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alexplayssimsnstuff · 5 years

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Bella Goth Disappearance FINALLY Solved!

Back in the day, I had originally subscribed to the theory that Bella was abducted by aliens that were set on her by the Caliente’s who then murdered her when she returned, and so I went in the game to do a walkthrough as to how I came to that theory. That’s when I found that I WAS WAYYYY OFF, there is a whole ass rabbit-hole here, and like a total Alice, I fell in it.

And, after 16 years of wondering and imagining different scenarios, I finally found out the truth. Turns out, we were ALL wrong, and the truth has been staring at us in the face the whole time.

Just as a warning, this is VERY dark and bleak and depressing. Bella wasn’t dealt a good hand, guys. What happened to her was all sorts of MESSED up.

Just for clarity, I do base this off of events that happen in the official sims storyline, because while the game is ultimately up to us to live life as we like, go ahead and do whatever with your game, there IS a story being told here, but in a way that doesn’t conflict with our own free will. It’s ingenious, really. This goes with the main Sims games released for PC and Mac. However, the console versions do provide a lot of insight to further details and situations. Specifically the Sims 2 for PSP, and the Sims 3 for the Nintendo DS.

So, first off, it has been verified what happened to her: In 2014, Twitter held an AMA for the SimGurus just before the release of the Sims 4. Someone asked the following question, and SimGuru Sarah responded.

It was later confirmed that Bella Goth of Lunar Lakes IS the Bella Goth of Pleasantview. She does look like the rest of the ghosts there with pale skin and yellow hair and eyes, and with that in mind, you can see for yourself…

That’s her, alright.

Okay, if she died on Lunar Lakes, there are still questions that need answers:

1. Did she ever go home?

2. Does her family know what happened to her?

3. How did she die on Lunar Lakes?

Well, she died of old age, that can be found out easily enough, but I found the answers to the other two: Kinda and no.

So, just to recap, I’m gonna review Bella’s life as we know it canonically.

Bella was born to Simis and Jocasta Bachelor of Sunset Valley. She grew up the road from her childhood best friend, and later, husband, Mortimer Goth, with her older brother Michael. She always had a sense of the macabre and dark and was known as “the best dressed girl in town.” Even then she wore a red dress. A more child appropriate red dress, but a red dress. She just came from an average suburban family who had a fascination for the not average. She’s still a child, and not a Goth yet. She still goes by the surname Bachelor.

Twenty-five years later, she shows up in the Sims 1 with her childhood best friend and now husband, Mortimer Goth, and they have moved into their own home, and have a daughter, Cassandra. Her in-laws moved out of their home in Sunset Valley and moved into what would later become the Goth House of the Sims 2 in the beginnings of what would be known as Pleasantview. Unless you got her a job, she was a housewife, and she was known to be athletic, elegant, and friendly towards her neighbors. I remember her often being the first to come and say hello to any new Sims I’d move into the neighborhood. Her brother, Michael, is also in town, however, there is no acknowledgement of them being siblings. A family tree system didn’t really exist in the Sims 1, and I’m sure they didn’t even think to make them siblings back then, but the fact remains that they have no relationship at this point in time. The only reason why it’s known that Cornelia and Gunther Goth are Mortimer’s parents is because it straight up says so in the bio. That and their names are the same, but anyway.

So far, things are simple.

That’s because in the 25 years between the Sims 1 and 2, a series of events occurs that really makes things interesting.

Michael joins the science career track. One can assume the reason why he settled into domestic living years after Bella had done so was because he was at grad school. Because he was graduated from grad school, he gets a jumpstart in the career and climbs the latter a lot faster than Mortimer does.

1. Scientist Sims contribute an invention into the Sims world. Michael’s invention was cloning technology. He cloned himself, and a test subject: Skip Broke.

a. Even though he died before it happened, arrangements were made so Brandi could be the next test subject and the first female subject, and when you start Pleasantview for the first time, she is pregnant with her own clone. The baby is always born a boy.

b. Michael’s clones have a 100% rate of being male, genetic identicals to those they were cloned from (Brandi’s just being a boy rather than a girl) and so far, a 100% rate of dying at the same time as the original. They are genetically identical, but wear different clothes.

2. Michael and Bella don’t really have a relationship in their adult lives because Michael leaves Pleasantview early on while Cassandra is still a child and moves to the city.

3. Mortimer follows after Michael, and invents the age reversal serum. Bella is the first test subject, and, the day of her abduction, she takes the serum until she reverts back to being a brand-new adult. Probably to allow herself to fit in her red dress as strikingly as she does, I don’t think an elderly woman could pull that off.

4. Cassandra enters private school.

5. Around this time, Gunther Goth dies. Bella, Mortimer, and Cassandra move out of their home and in with Cornelia to be with her in her last stages of life.

6. Michael marries Dina Caliente. It is speculated that, because of the age gap, they only marry for Michael’s money. But it is worth noting that Michael was Dina’s first serious relationship and she didn’t begin to cheat on Michael with Don until years later just before Michael died.

7. Alexander is born.

8. Shortly after Alexander’s birth, Cornelia dies at the same time Michael does.

9. Dina inherits Michael’s estate and moves in with Nina. They then move to Pleasantview.

10. Don follows them and moves the next day.

11. Bella goes to introduce herself to her new neighbor, Don. They get along, and Don gets the wrong idea and puts the move on Bella. Bella rejects him. He then runs off to go be with Kaylynn and is not there when Bella is abducted by aliens.

12. Bella is never seen again, but shortly after her abduction, a UFO crashlands in Strangetown, and reports that Bella is in Strangetown start rolling in. But, spoiler alert, that’s not the real Bella.

Then, after Bella’s abduction and before you start Pleasantview for the first time, the following happens:

1. Mortimer and Dina hit it off rather fast, and marriage is definitely in the picture when the game first starts.

2. Cassandra, Mortimer, and Alexander all age up on the same day 2 days after Bella disappears.

3. Cassandra goes to Don’s house to find out what he knows about what happened to Bella (jack squat since he wasn’t there) and that’s where they meet for the first time. Don tries to seduce her, probably not knowing who she is, and Cassandra, as much as you gotta love the girl, is naïve as all hell and thinks she won the jackpot and falls for Don quickly.

4. Alexander goes to private school

5. Mortimer retires

6. Cassandra gets engaged the VERY day the game starts.

That is an important thing to note because people like to speculate that Don had something to do with Bella’s disappearance because he made the moves on her mother and they were engaged and he didn’t want to jeopardize that by Bella opening her yap. This is NOT the case because Cassandra was still a teenager when Bella vanished. Don may be a hoe, but he isn’t a pedo. Chris Hansen doesn’t need to be called for this one.

Another important thing to point out is that it’s not known if Dina and Nina knew Bella. At least, not well, since it can’t be established if Michael and Bella had a relationship at all. Despite the fact that they were friends when they were younger, Mortimer has no memories of Michael, and neither do Cassandra or Alexander. They never met their uncle.

ALSO, yes Dina and Nina do have alien ancestry. Their father was a result of an alien abduction pregnancy. But he was born human, so they’re not part alien. Which means they didn’t order ANY aliens to go and kidnap anybody. Why would they? They don’t know her. Not even normal alien sims do that, y’all are just racist.

It’s also worth noting that Mortimer is COMPLETELY fine with Bella being gone. He’s not heartbroken and he isn’t desperately trying to find her like the game tries to suggest. He’s strangely cool about it.

Why is Mortimer fine with Bella being gone?

Because they are no longer married and haven’t been since around the time Alexander was born.

And THAT, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, is the BIGGEST part that y’all need to just remember. If you can only take one thing away from this part, take away the fact that they’re divorced. It’s S U P E R important.

Now, it is possible to bring Bella back with the Tombstone of Life and Death. She’ll only stick around for a short while because she has a death token that activates when you save the lot, go into Pleasantview, and reload the Goth House. She’ll disappear. Interesting to note that if she’s in the middle of doing something, like talking with a sim or cooking food, she doesn’t disappear completely until she’s done. She does turn see-through and it kinda glitches out…it’s really creepy. Give it a try, you’ll see what I mean. But when she’s done, she’ll disappear, and you’ll get a notification saying she died somewhere else and her spirit has returned to where she was buried.

However, if she dies this way, you cannot resurrect her with the resurrect-o-nomitron. It doesn’t matter who tries it, where they are, or anything. Grim acts like he doesn’t know anything about Bella being dead and even if the Sim COULD resurrect a sim, Bella is not listed.

Since we know Bella is buried in Lunar Lakes, this means she died sometime between the week of her abduction and Cassandra’s wedding where the game starts.

However, while you have Bella in your household, you’ll find she’s brought back with no personality points. She has no memories besides what happened to her children after the first load of Pleasantview. So let’s say that between loading the game and bringing back Bella with the Tombstone, Cassandra gives birth to twin boys. Bella will come back with memories that Cassandra had twins, and she will even know who her grandchildren are. (I use this example because in my most recent Pleasantview playthrough, Cassandra had twin boys named Hendrick and Caspian with Don Lothario.)

Bella will have NO relationship at all whatsoever with Mortimer. You can see before you bring her back on the Goth family tree that they are not married at that point, and Mortimer and Bella start their relationship over as acquaintances. If you let them progress their relationship naturally with no cheats, they actually fight a lot and do not get along at all.

Now, any townie and NPC created before Nightlife will have their turn-on and turn-offs randomized. But it seems to constantly make it so that Bella is never attracted to Mortimer and Mortimer is RARELY attracted to Bella. This is a consistent thing. Interesting to take into consideration.

It’s clear to me, at least, that there were some problems boiling up for some time before Bella vanished.

--they get divorced at around the same time Alexander is born

--they do not get along at all

--Mortimer is completely fine after Bella’s disappearance and isn’t the frantic husband he’s marketed to be at this point in time.

--Mortimer gets into a relationship with Dina Caliente extremely soon after Bella vanishes.

--If Bella does come back and Mortimer is still alive, they naturally do not get along at all.

Which is weird, right? They were always shown to be this desperately in love couple who couldn’t live without eachother. I remember them having a good relationship in the Sims 1.

Also worth noting, Bella is a romance aspiration sim. In the Sims 2, they tend to hoe around a lot. There are a few other adult sims in Pleasantview who are also romance aspiration sims.

1. Don Lothario (the epitome of the romance aspiration)

2. Nina Caliente

3. Daniel Pleasant

4. Skip Broke was also a romance aspiration sim when he was alive.

What is interesting is that while for the most part, romance aspiration sims like to hoe around, there is one exception to this rule so far: Nina Caliente. Nina Caliente’s only romantically involved with Don Lothario. Unless you have another sim start putting the moves on her, then it’s a whole other story. If it were a thing back then, Nina would have been a soulmate romance aspiration while the others would have been serial romantic aspirations.

Bella COULD have been the same way, but that wouldn’t make any sense with the myriad of problems with her relationship with Mortimer.

So, in conclusion, Bella had an affair. Mortimer found out about it, which caused them to, at the least, separate for a while. Then, Bella became pregnant with Alexander, which would have brought up an important question—who is Alexander’s father? Once Alexander was born, and as he got a little older, it becomes clear that he resembles Cornelia, therefore verifying that Mortimer is indeed his father. This would have caused them to try their relationship again, and Bella would have turned down Don in good faith to Mortimer.

Who did Bella have an affair with?

Don wasn’t in town yet, and they hadn’t met. Neither did she meet the Caliente’s yet. Which leaves two possible contenders for Bella’s secret lover: Daniel Pleasant and Skip Broke.

On one hand, Daniel was Bella’s neighbor. She knew the Pleasants, and was friends with Mary-Sue. Daniel had an affair with Kaylynn going on, so he definitely could have some action on the side with Bella, too. My only reservation on that would be that I couldn’t imagine her doing that to her best friend. But then again, she did have an affair on her husband, so who’s to say what her morals are.

Then, there’s Skip Broke. This one makes the most sense to me, personally. While she wasn’t close with Michael, that doesn’t mean she completely avoided him altogether. She would have heard about Michael’s cloning experiments and could have met Skip that way, or she came to say hello and that was how they met. There is a theory going around that Brandi found out Skip was cheating on her, and that’s why she killed him and took his insurance money.

Maybe I’ll do another thing on that because the Skip Broke incident happens to be another rabbit hole altogether.

So, we know that Bella had an affair with Mortimer and things weren’t going so well between them at the time of her disappearance. We know that the Calientes and Don are completely innocent, at least as far as her disappearance goes. (And Nina is innocent altogether, she just loves Don and is completely oblivious to the fact that he’s doing her sister and two other women. She is ALSO a victim here, you guys. Give some love to Nina Caliente, she needs it.)

She dies sometime in the week between her abduction and the first time the Goth household is booted up from old age on Lunar Lakes despite the fact that she was a brand new adult again thanks to Mortimer’s reverse age serum.

Then a UFO crashlands in Strangetown and shortly thereafter reports of Bella Goth being in Strangetown start swarming around.

And yes, this Bella is a clone—there are subtle facial similarities, she is not in the family tree at all for the Goth house, but other than that, she’s structured exactly like the Real Bella goes as far as her outfit, her personality, and her aspiration.

(The Wiki says it’s her despite the fact that it’s been verified she’s not, and it also has MANY discrepencies, saying she’s related to the Curious Family and they appear on her family tree, which is incorrect because Strangetown Bella’s family tree is COMPLETELY EMPTY.)

So, clearly, when Bella was abducted, something went wrong. But what?

Well, why would the aliens even abduct her in the first place?

They tend to go after sims who are wealthy, high-skilled, good-looking, popular, anything like that. Bella was ALL of those things. She was the epitome of the perfect sim to the aliens. They practically worshipped her and their queen took her name and appearance. (This is referenced several times, specifically in the Sims 3.)

So, if something were to go wrong, why would the aliens worship her unless she had been being watched for some time before her abduction?

And what went wrong that caused her to lose her memories, her skills, her personality, her youth, everything?

Aliens also do not abduct children, the elderly, and pregnant sims because their experimentation could go drastically wrong.

She wasn’t a child, and reversed her age so she wouldn’t be an elder for quite some time—

So the only thing that’s left is that she was pregnant when she was abducted and that was why things went wrong.

She wouldn’t have known this, and neither would the aliens—it’s possible that the baby was conceived that day, which helped Bella in the case where Don was hitting on her—she wouldn’t go cheating on Mortimer if she were trying to rekindle their relationship and they had made it to woo-hoo that day.

Also worth noting is that there IS another Goth on Lunar Lakes who happens to look exactly like Bella.

Anyone recognize her?

This is Mathilde Goth.

She is the long-lost third child of Mortimer and Bella Goth.

No, they don’t appear on eachother’s family tree, but they wouldn’t if Bella died shortly after giving birth to her and Mathilde was put in the orphanage.

Mathilde looks almost identical to Bella with the exception of her blue eyes. She also has a preference for blue where Bella preferred red.

Mathilde has no idea where her mother came from and the fact that she has a family on Earth who is just as oblivious to her existence as she is to theirs.

What happens to Cassandra and Alexander after they find out about Bella’s death?

Remember how I said scientist sims end up inventing something?

Cassandra’s invention is time travel. She makes a time machine and the first use is to send Don to the future after her, Dina, Nina, and Kaylynn find out that he was playing all of them. She then goes on to live her life. We don’t know how that looks yet, but she never finds out what happened to her mother and that she has a younger sister.

Alexander is greatly affected by his mother’s death. He has no memories of her being abducted by aliens. Normally toddlers remember things like that so it’s odd that he doesn’t when the rest of his family does. What he does remember is her disappearing, Mortimer being okay with it and getting together with Dina really fast after she vanished, and then finding out that his mother was dead.

Alexander is a child prodigee. He’s a smart kid. So, he would go with any other conclusion someone would go with that limited information: he believed Mortimer killed her.

Well, Cassandra still has her time machine after she uses it to get rid of Don. And as we all know, Alexander’s name shows up in the Sims 3 a few times despite the fact that he doesn’t exist yet. And, according to the Goth family tree, it’s not a family name of an ancestor of his, he is the only Alexander Goth.

Once again, we’re going to reference a console game. This time is the Sims 3 for the Nintendo DS. Alexander actually makes an appearance, and this time, he’s not alone: he’s married to a woman named Cecelia. The family bio says that their gloominess is BECAUSE of Mortimer. Alexander dyed his hair orange. Probably he was trying to bleach it and didn’t know what toner was. He doesn’t have that great of a relationship with Cecelia, as a matter of fact, she has a better relationship with Don Alto than she does her own husband.

Back in the realm of the PC games, Alexander wrote two books when he went back in time to the continuity of the Sims 3:

Baron Graff Van Gold, which comes with Supernatural,

And then there’s the one that appears in the base game.

Murder in Pleasantview.

To string it altogether, Alexander remembers her being gone, then learning she died. He suspects Mortimer was the one to do it but he never actually talks to his father about it. He doesn’t know anything about the abduction, if anything thinking it a ridiculous rumor. He grows up, gets married, and decides at some point in time to go back in time to try and prevent his mother’s death. So he and his wife go into the time machine and try to go back to when it happened, but instead get sent back wayyyy too far to when his parents are still children. What happens to the time machine? It breaks. He’s stuck in a period of time where Time travel wasn’t a thing and no one really knows how to help him and he sure as hell doesn’t know himself. Effectively, he’s stuck there.

So, he writes A Murder in Pleasantview to tell the story of what he thinks happens to his mother. He doesn’t know it’s really all for nothing, but at the same time, it is because of what ends up happening as a result. A result he probably didn’t even know would happen.

See, A Murder in Pleasantview is a best-seller. It blows up the world of 50 years before his time. Every bookshelf has a copy of this book, standard-load. Sims would have read this, and would be influenced accordingly. They would have made better decisions, not wanting this tragic thing to happen to them.

And yes, it does literally take the world by storm. Better decisions in the past truly make for a better future.

This is where the Sims 4 comes in. It is a different continuity, but it is different because they are aware of what Alexander believes to have happened to Bella. This would be why their personalities are so completely different, why the age gap between Cassandra and Alexander aren’t so extreme, why the Goths are so much more reclusive.

Alexander did something that inadvertently changed the future, eliminating himself and his circumstances entirely. He vanished suddenly, probably in a series of events identical to Back to the Future, where he is then allowed to live his life as a child with his mother in the picture, having no idea what he believed happened to her, nor knowing the truth. He erases his little sister altogether, but he can’t be blamed for that since he didn’t know she even existed.

What happened to his wife? Did she get erased like Alexander did?

No, actually she died. She tried repairing the time machine, failed, and was electrocuted to death as a result. She died young and is buried in the Goth mansion’s graveyard, confusing future generations because no one knows where she comes from because she has the surname Goth but they can’t find her on their family tree.

Lolita Goth was the wife of Alexander Goth.

Yes, it says she’s single, which means one of two things happened:

Either she tried repairing the time machine one last time after Alexander vanished and died,

Like Alexander’s marriage to Cecelia, they didn’t have the best relationship and they ended up getting a divorce, then, possibly with Alexander still around, did the same and died.

She clearly wanted to go back home to her time and wasn’t happy with Alexander for being stuck there.

And it makes sense that she would have been electrocuted with the time machine because there are no other objects in the Goth Mansion that would result in her electrocution.

Which would ALSO explain why the Goths of the Sims 3 can’t figure out who she is. You can’t list a descendent and their wife on your family tree if they don’t exist yet, can you?

Tragedy is just par for the course in the Goth Family, it matches their dark and dreary macabre air. But Bella’s story is just really extra sad. Imagine trying to repair your failed marriage, going to meet a new neighbor only for him to put the moves on you without invitation, then get abducted by aliens where their experiments go wrong, causing you to lose your memories, your personality, your youth, and then you find out that it went wrong because you’re pregnant, which you didn’t know about that either, and your kidnappers take a tissue sample from you, and then drop you on a strange planet far from home where you have no way to communicate to them that you’re there, but you don’t remember anyone but your children anyway, leaving you to have a baby you didn’t even know existed when you were abducted and live just long enough to name her?

The truth has been staring at us in the face since 2014, but we all missed it. Me included for the longest time. It’s been 16 years since Bella went missing, and we all had theories and ideas, but THIS is the truth, and it’s really. Messed up. Yeah, I found out what happened to Bella, but do I like it? No, not at all. Bella deserved better, and so do her children. Mathilde especially. She grew up in an orphanage never knowing she had a family who would have loved her so very much, only to become a mailcarrier on her home planet. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a mailcarrier, don’t get me wrong.

Dina Caliente is innocent, but seriously? Bye.

Nina Caliente is innocent, and really deserves better.

Don Lothario is innocent, but yet he sucks.

Mortimer Goth used to be my favorite out of the Goth family, yes, even over Bella. But after learning everything about him I have mixed feelings about the guy. I don’t blame him for not trusting Bella, and I don’t blame him for wanting to move on, but jeez, at least show a little genuine emotion, Morty, she was your childhood best friend, and, if nothing else, the mother of your children.

There was no plot to get rid of her and swipe the Goth fortune.

It was just poor timing on the alien’s end, and bad luck altogether.

So, yeah.

That’s what happened to Bella Goth.

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

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making amends | mitch rapp

word count; 6262

summary; Mitch makes his girl angry, and now he’s making up for it.

warnings; smut and references to violence/injury.

notes; this is totally unproofed, because I wrote it in like twelve hours to make sure y’all had something today since I took the other fic down.

“C’mon, kitten, I said I was sorry.”

Mitch’s voice felt irritatingly soft as he trailed you around the supermarket, watching as you pushed the cart and built up the groceries for your weekly shop, ignoring the way he whined a little as you continued to give him the cold-shoulder. “I thought I told you to stay at home.”

“Technically, you said ‘wash that fucking lipstick off your neck, while I go to the store’, and I did. I showered, I’m all fresh, and I’ve come to shop with you.” He bumped his hip against the edge of the cart, and you growled out, absolutely not in the mood to hear him sum up technicalities. He wandered along with you in silence for a while, occasionally reaching out to try and place a hand on your lower back, or wrap his arm around you, only to be shrugged off. It was at the bakery section, as you weighed out two different loaves of bread, staring at them intently, that he tried again; “Baby, please. It wasn’t like it was something I just did for fun, it was literally a life or death situation.”

“Was it, Rapp? Because the last time I checked, letting another woman crawl into your lap and suck on your neck was called ‘cheating’, not ‘surviving’.”

His own growl sounded out now, and he placed both hands on the front of the cart to bring it to a complete stop, the apologetic look on his face being gone as he glared at you, the intense stare-down taking place in the middle of the bread section, and it was hours overdue. “Do not call me a cheater. I didn’t kiss her, I didn’t initiate it, I just had to let it happen to keep my cover.”

“Where were your hands?”

“What?” Confusion flickered across his features, and in the middle of it all, you chose which loaf you wanted, dropping that down into the cart too, and you raised a brow at him, watching as he swallowed thickly, eyes dropping from yours for a split second. “You don’t really want me to answer that.”

“Yes, I do.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, sighing out, before his shoulders dropped. “On her ass. But, they were just sitting there, it wasn’t like-”

You turned from him, continuing on to find things in the aisles, but your head was a little lower, and he didn’t try to touch you anymore. He simply walked along beside you, adding the things he knew were weekly additions, until everything was prepared, and you had crossed everything off of your list.

He helped to load things out onto the check-out, an elderly woman behind you with far more things than she had bags for in her hands, but you turned back to Mitch, finding him playing with his hands as he stared at you. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“What?”

“Because of what happened on the assignment. Are you breaking up with me?” He finally looked up, honey-coloured eyes wide and glassy, and your angry stiffness slipped away, your body slumping a little, and you stepped slightly closer to him.

“No.”

He perked up a little, a breath of relief leaving him, and he reached out a hand, slowly to give you time to pull back, before it was settling over your jaw, and he was pulling you even closer, until your toes bumped his and breath was shared between you both, a little chuckle on his lips. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch for a few nights?”

You considered it, the pair of you shuffling up a little closer as your groceries moved, the elderly woman ahead of you still packing up, but you were in your own little bubble with the man you loved, even if, on the surface, you were angry with him. “No. You know I hate it when the bed is empty, and you only just got back. I don’t want you out of it any longer.”

He just nodded his head before closing the gap between you both, a soft kiss pressed to your lips. It was reassuring, and no matter how much you hated to give in to him so easily, it felt so right to be back in his arms, and feel the way his lips moved with your own, a pattern traced so delicately, mastered after years of practice but never any less passionate, and when you pulled away, it was with a happy hum and the feeling of warmth flooding through your body.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do know that.” You grumbled, smiling to the cashier as she began to ring up your products, and you began to bag them all up, feeling him bump up against you as he came to help.

“And?”

“And what?” You knew what he wanted, and you were playing coy, but he was fixing you with a wounded stare, some kind of puppy-dog eyes, and you gave him, rolling your eyes fondly and turning away to hide your smile. “I love you, too.”

He was overly pleased with himself, chuffing as his chest puffed out, and he packed the rest of the groceries with you while making idle small talk with the young girl at the register, the poor thing rambling about her upcoming maths tests, before he was punching his PIN into the device and scooping up the bags, following you out to the car.

Loading it all into the back, he helped you climb in, before rounding the vehicle himself, and hopping up into the passenger seat. You turned to look at him as the car started, reversing out of the space, and he lifted your hand from the gear stick to pressed kisses along your knuckles once the two of you were making your way out towards the roads. “Didn’t you bring your car? I’m not driving you back here tomorrow to get it, just because you got needy and wanted to drive with me.”

“So mean.” He tutted, shaking his head, and you took your hand back from him, placing it on the wheel as you reached busier roads. “You don’t want me to sleep on the couch, but you’re still mad at me, because if you weren’t, you’d totally drive me back. It’s not there, by the way, my car is in our garage at home. I got a taxi.”

“That was optimistic.”

“Yes, it was. I would get a taxi from one end of the country to the other if it meant making you happy.” It was ridiculously romantic, and while Mitch was known for sweet-talking you, this was just sappy, his comments usually involved flirting and a playful comment as he teased you and tried to get you a little aroused. “So, please just tell me how to make it up to you, and I’ll do it.”

“Well, you can start by making me dinner.”

“I’ll make you that casserole that you like.” You hummed at the idea, enjoying the simple idea of the meal you loved so much, and he was continuing on for you, trying to charm you as he endeavoured to make it all okay again. “I’ll run you a bath too, and I’ll sit there with you the whole time, even though you know I hate baths. But, I do like the way your bath bombs smell.”

“You’re definitely getting there.”

He smirked, turning to look at you, the radio playing in the background and you could feel his eyes dragging along your body, the heavyweight of his stare on your form, and you only glanced at him, catching the cheeky look on his features. “Then, at the end of the night, I’ll take you to bed, and make you scream in all the ways I know you love, pinned to the bed as I fuck you senseless. I’ll take you apart, make you completely unravel, until you’re begging me for it.”

“No.”

His grin fell away, a little startled at the fact it hadn't been an accepted offer, and he sat up straighter from the slumped position he’d been in. “What?”

“Not tonight.” He frowned, and it was your turn to smirk, what soon became a wicked grin as excitement flooded your veins with your own idea. “You touched another girl, so tonight, you don’t get to touch me until I tell you it’s okay.”

“Kitten, I d-”

“You’ll be begging me for it. Begging me to let you cum, begging me to touch you, begging me just to kiss you.” He was gaping a little squirming in his seat. “Tonight, you can submit to me.”

“We’ve never done that before.”

“That’s because you like to dominate, all the time.” You muttered, and he sounded his agreement enthusiastically.

“And it works that way!” He reached out, to brush his fingers along your cheek comfortingly as you pulled up into the driveway, but you only pulled back, mischief taking over as you tutted at him.

“What did I say? No touching until you’re told to.” He whimpered a little, scowling at you as he pulled back his hand.

“Baby, don’t do this to me. I like to touch you, and hold you, and kiss you. I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you.” You only shook your head, killing the engine and taking back the keys, before you were leaning over the centre console just far enough to press a kiss to his lips, and he whined when you pulled back far too soon for his liking, before he’d even had a chance to tangle his fingers in your hair and lick at you lower lip like he normally would. “This is going to be torture.”

“That’s the whole point.”

Mitch did his best to do as told, he really did, but it was hard. He wasn’t used to being told what to do when it came to you, he was used to being the one giving orders, and doing the teasing, and being able to take what he wanted whenever he wanted it. Every time he kissed you, instinct kicking in, before you’d told him he could, you made sure to stick an extra five minutes onto the time before you got to the fun stuff, and you were loving it.

He looked physically pained when you’d told him you wanted to watch a movie before your bath, to use up the extra time he’d earned by growling and pinning you to the edge of the counter when dinner had been ready and you’d made a show of bending over the oven to pull it out, and while he had insisted that it had been worth it, he was now reaping the consequences. You did love him though, and so half-way through you’d given in to his sad pouting and sulking, shuffling across the cushions into his arms, letting him wrap you up tightly as he curled around you to hold on, your back pressed to his chest as he pressed kisses to your cheeks and jaw, anywhere he could reach as he craned his head around to you, and your fingers had woven together.

That was when you found yourself in a much similar position, warm water swaying around you as your fingers danced over the bubble on the surface, entertaining yourself as you drew patterns, and Mitch’s chin was hooked over your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you. Your hair was pinned up to keep it dry, and he was entertaining himself by blowing a strand continuously, watching as it darted up into the air, before falling back against your cheek, tickling you as it did, before he was repeating it all over again.

“Will you stop that? You’re making my cheek cold.”

“Sorry, baby.” He did as told, moving to press a wet kiss to your skin, the cool blows he’d been letting out having chilled that side of your face, and he nuzzled against the spot as he pulled away. “You know how bored I get in the bath. I don’t see the point.” You did know that, but you wanted to sit here a little longer, because as much as he hated it, you liked baths, and there was plenty that you did for him that you weren’t as fond of. Like watching every single baseball match that came on with him, and recording the ones he missed while he was away.

“Just a little bit longer.”

“As long as you want, kitten.” You smiled a little at his voice, your eyes fluttering closed as you settled your head back against his shoulder, feeling the stubble on the underside of his jaw brush against the top of your head as you did, and he leaned it against you, trying to relax himself. “Don’t you feel like we’re just sitting in our own dirt, though?”

“You ask me that every single time. Even when you’re not even in the bath.”

He chuckled, nodding his head a little, before finding your hands under the water, and weaving your fingers with his own. “I know, but showers are just better.” You hummed, barely acknowledging his statement, having heard the argument dozens of times, but letting him play it out, anyway. “They’re just cleaner! All the dirt and grime washes away, and they don’t get cold like a bath does, it’s always hot - well, until the water heater runs out - but they're quicker, too!”

“Uh-huh..”

He huffed, knowing he’d lost your attention, and you felt his thumb raise up to play with your own as he tried to entertain himself. “Besides, we can have fun in the shower.” You knew what he was hinting at, the tone of his voice gave it away, and your mind conjured up an image you were sure was accurate, brows wiggling a little as he grinned cheekily at his flirty comment, and you scoffed.

“We can still have fun in the bath.”

You took his hand, his interest peaking as you dragged it down over wet skin, across your stomach, until the water was shifting as you parted your legs from where they were crossed, and the deep rumble in his chest was more than enough to show his enthusiasm, taking control over his limb as you let go, fingers drifting gently over your core as the surface rippled. Are you finally gonna’ let me touch you?”

“You’ve been touching me all night.” You taunted, and he nipped gently on your shoulder, still stroking his fingers slowly over your folds, waiting for the real permission, finally having learned not to just take what he wanted, hours of being denied making him patient as he waits on the precipice of getting what he really wanted.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” The tip of his nose dragged over your temple, lips following, and you gave in, the sweet and loving touches being all too much. You had already forgiven him, and deep down, you weren't even sure there had ever been anything to forgive. He did what he had to do not to blow his cover, to stay alive and to get the information he needed to get home to you quicker, but it didn’t make it any easier to picture the man you loved so much letting another woman take your place, even if it didn’t mean anything to him. “You can touch me, Mitch. I need you to.”

He let out a happy breath, fingers immediately working to part your folds, dragging calloused fingertips up gently, until he could circle your clit. “Missed you so much while I was away. You have no idea, I hate having to leave, especially when I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

“Every time you leave scares, I think you won’t come back.”

You lifted a hand, lacing it into his hair carefully, wet fingers making the strands damp, sticking to your fingers as your nails scratched over his scalp in the way you knew he loved, the shiver you felt as you did only confirming it. A single digit eased around your entrance, slipping in slowly, and your back arched as you finally felt yourself connecting with him again. You couldn't help it, the moan that fell from your lips as he pumped the sole finger slowly, and he whispered soothing words softly into your ear as he tightened the arm around your waist.

“Mitch..”

“I know, baby, I got you.” A second finger stretched you out, the pace picking up, water beginning to splash a little up the edges of the tub, and you moved, enough to be able to turn your head fully, lip finding his, and he moaned softly into your mouth as you did. Soft teasings, that only a second later became teeth grazing your lower lip, and tongues tangling as dove further into you, head tipping to the side and hand gripping your waist even more tightly.

The coil in your stomach was tightening, your hips rocking up into his hand as you began to crave your peak, needing to feel everything you’d missed so long since he’d been away. The heel of his hand was rubbing against your swollen bud, his mouth dragging from your own when your head began to spin as you gasped for breath, feeling him move along your neck to find the spot he knew so well, licking and sucking his way, stinging flesh that threatened to turn to bruises, before he was finding the spot within you that threw you over the edge.

There were whimpers of his name as you unraveled, walls clamping around long and slender digits as he eased you through your peak, a cry of his name that was quickly muffled as his mouth descended over your own once again, and then you were coming down, feeling him pull away from your core, leaving you empty as he pulled back. “I’m never leaving you, kitten. I promise, I’ll always come home to you. You are home.”

You could only nod, twisting in his arms straddle his lap, your hands cupping his face as he stared up at you, a small smile on his lips as he felt your thumbs smoothing over his cheeks, and you couldn't help but return it. While there had been no official confirmation of it, you knew where this was headed. When he’d asked whether you were breaking up with him, even at that moment, you’d both know it would never happen, because he was your end game, and you were his, and you never needed to say it, because it was evident in every moment of every day that you spent with him.

“I love you, so much. You know you’re my forever, right?”

“I know.” You whispered, pecking his lips gently when he puckered them for you, and he leaned in further, keeping your forehead pressed to his, even when you pulled away. “I love you too.” He grinned, one of your hands trailing down from his cheek to his chest, hard muscles littered with little scars, bumps of pink flesh that you were so used to tracing with your lips on the quiet nights when he needed a little more reassurance. Tensing and flexing under your touch, you shuffled back, sitting across muscled thighs, before wrapping your fingers gently around his half-hard cock, and he bucked up into your touch.

His lips parted, mouth falling open, and you grinned as his head tipped back, body sinking further down into the water, head resting on the edge of the tub. Your other hand found the metal beside his head, leaning in to kiss and bite your way along his throat, and a whimper found it’s way to the surface leaning even further to let you have that more access, your lips sealing onto the place his neck and shoulders met. You could tell that much by the broken noise he let out, cock throbbing in your hand as he became fully hard, and water dripped from his hands as he lifted them to find your hips, groping tightly as he rolled up to meet your slow pumps.

You slowed down, even more, grip tightening as you waited for him to beg, the same way he’d promised you would be, before you’d turned the tables on him. You’d never had much of a chance to see him this way, to take him apart slowly, piece by piece until he was begging you for it, and you gave in, moving your hand a little faster each time he moaned out, before a needy whine was the loudest sound yet;

“Kitten, stop teasing me, please.”

“But, it’s so much fun. That’s what you like to do to me.” He cracked his eyes open, somehow finding the strength to lift his head, muscles stiff as he neared the edge, but a defiant look was flashing through his eyes. “Don’t you remember, the time you made me wait hours to cum, I lost count of how many times you brought me to the edge, before letting me wind back down? I remember, I was shaking and crying, begging you for it, and when you finally let me cum, it was so good that everything went blank, and it took almost half an hour for everything to come back into focus.”

He smirked a little, the expression quickly dropping as his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape when you toyed with the patch under the tip of his cock that made him go weak, before you were slowing down once again, and a desperate sound left him. “I remember. How could I not? You were wearing my favourite lingerie, and it was the first time you squirted. It was incredible.”

“Well, you made me wait that night, so now, you get to wait.”

“No, no, please. I’m so close, I’m gonna’ come, kitten.” You stopped, hand stilling around him, before you were letting him go, solid cock bobbing in the water as a sob left him, and you caught his wrist in your hands before he could take his pleasure into his own hands. You knew very well that he could overpower you if he wanted to, and it looked like he was going to, before he was giving in, a defeated look on his face as his arms went loose in your grasp. “You really are torturing me.”

“Oh, honey, you’ll get what you want in the end.”

“Yeah, but how long do I have to wait?” He grumbled, watching as you stood up, dark eyes raking over your naked and wet form, licking his lips and grinning happily as you stepped out of the bath, just happy it was finally over. He pulled the plug on the drain, the water began to slip away, before he was following you, grabbing a towel from the rack himself and chasing after you to the bedroom as you dried yourself as you walked.

A hand reached out, finding your waist as he turned you to face him, and you let him do so, before you were pushing him backwards, waiting for the back of his legs to find the bed and he fell backwards, sitting on the edge of the mattress, both towels falling away. “Tell me what you want, Mitch.”

“I want to come.” He hissed, a scowl on his face, and you tutted at his attitude, a shocked look flittering over your lover’s features at the sound. You were having fun at his extent, the role reversal being more than he could handle, but he forced himself to relax, shaking himself down and slumping down on the bed, his hands being all that was holding him up now. “I just want to come.”

“‘Course you do, and we’ll get to that, but not yet. Tell me what else you want.”

He considered it all, before a lopsided smile was taking over, and he was resting himself back against the covers. “If I tell you, will you give it to me?”

“Isn’t that what you always do for me? Take care of me, give me what I want without really giving me what I want.” He chuckled, nodding his head, and he watched as you moved around the bed, pulling the scrunchie from your hair and letting it fall free once again.

“I would love it if you sucked my cock.” You grinned a little, his own hands twitching by his side as his cock bobbed in the air, angry and flushed, leaking precum at the tip as he balanced on the verge of coming. “Just the way you know I like it, when you let me fuck your mouth, choking on my cock, you look so pretty like that. I like it especially much when you let me paint your beautiful face, sticky and white.” He snickered at his own words, and you raised a brow, sinking to your knees between his thighs, and he propped himself up on his elbows as he waited for you to make a move.

“You’re trying to top from the bottom, Mitch Rapp. That’s not allowed.”

“Yeah, well, you already won’t let me cum. What else are you going to do?” He was so sure of himself, so confident, and so you traced your tongue along his length, top to bottom, and his stomach clenched up, lines of his muscles clear, and you chuckled as he reached a hand out towards you, the intention of lacing it into your hair.

“You can’t touch.”

“What?” He was startled, and you repeated your motion, making sure to swirl the wet article around the head of his cock now too, and his hips bucked upwards, cock smeared across your cheek, and you glared falsely at him, taking him in your hand.

“You asked what else I was going to do. You tested me. Now, you don’t get to touch, either. I know just how much you like to do that.”

He let out a string of curses, collapsing back into laying down once again, fingers twisting in the bedsheets as he tried to contain himself, and you wanted to push his limits a little more. Sealing your lips around him, you sank your way along his cock, until he was tapping the back of your throat, and a pathetic sound left him as the sheets shifted under his hold, pulling tight as he tried to contain himself. His hips were moving, pushing up into your mouth as he tried to get even deeper within the wet heat of your mouth, but your nails dug into his thighs, making him tremble as they dropped back down, body curling in on himself a little bit at the shock of the sting that moved along his body.

Pleas fell from him from the moment your cheeks hollowed around him, tight and filthy, and you swallowed around him as you leaned down far enough to feel his tip hitting the back of your throat. The burn in your eyes was something you loved, tears slipping down your cheek as you gagged along his length, swallowing around him. Everything within you wanted to please him, to bring him to his peak, to hear him growl out your name alongside sweet praises as he always did, but today, it was different. Today, you were in charge, you were taking him apart, and you pulled back for breath, your hand finding his spit-slick cock and pumping quickly.

“Oh, shit, baby..” He was gasping for breath, body rigid and tense as you leaned over him, kissing along his stomach, tracing his happy trail with the tip of your tongue as he sighed, before sucking a bruise into the pale flesh of his hip bone. “Please, please, fuck, let me come..”

“You’re doing so good, though..” You mumbled, words whispered into his skin, and as you felt him near that peak, you pulled away once again, ignoring his sobs as he was left dry, and you tried to suppress your thrill, kissing your way up his body slowly, and his eyes were still screwed up when you reached his face, features softening as you leaned in to kiss him.

He was more than eager, searching for any kind of contact at this point, and he lifted his head to meet you halfway. When you licked along the seam of his lips, he parted them happily, letting you explore his mouth as though you’d never done so before, coaxing him to join you until you could feel the tension slip away from his body, relaxing under your touch, the bedding falling loose again as his fingers uncurled from them.

Taking his hands, one at a time, you lifted them up, pinning them over his head, and ignoring the way he let out needy noises into your mouth, muscles twitching under your skin as you trailed your fingertips back along his arms, featherlight touches that made him jerk a little as they tickled him. Taking a seat across his lap once again, joint sounds of pleasure erupted from the both of you as your sodden heat pressed along his length.

Rocking your hips, you pushed down against him, and his head was pressing into the bedding, dark tufts of hair looking more than inviting to tangle your fingers in you rode him, something you rarely ever got to do, but your body was singing out, and you were more than happy to take this opportunity as it reared its head. The tip of his cock grazed your clit each time, you could feel every throb he made, and with a simple shift of your hips, he was lined up at your entrance, ready to sink into your welcoming warmth when you let him.

His eyes met your own, and he lifted his head from where it lay flat, eyes dropping down to the place where you both connected, before they were rolling back in his head as you finally sank down onto him.

“Oh, fucking hell, I’ve never loved your pussy more than right now.” He hissed the words out through gritted teeth, and you gave yourself a second to adjust, feeling the width of him stretching you out as your breath felt knocked from your lungs. That same desperate rigidity was back, short puffs of air as he struggled not to come undone, but then you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up just enough to slam down onto him, squeezing him as you did and with a loud cry, he broke.

Ribbons of hot cum spattered your walls, filling you up in the most delicious way, the same way that always made you feel weak, your body trembling atop his as you tried to keep up your pace, the way he was sobbing and moaning your name was something so erotic you wondered why you’d never thought to want it before, and now, you knew why he dragged it out for you. It was a mind-blowing pleasure, the kind that made our head spin, and you’d always been on the receiving end of it, but you could see the appeal from his side. It made something that made you feel powerful, and confident, and entirely beautiful in your own skin, to see the effect you could have on another person, even through your insecurities, as you watched him fall apart.

“Holy shit, that was incredible.”

His words were slurred, choked out through a contented sigh, before he was moaning again, thrusting up weakly into you as you continued to take what you needed and never once did he soften within you, he just continued to stay the way he was, his thighs tensing behind you as he pulled his feet up to rest flat on the bed.

“That’s it, kitten. Ride me, you look so fucking good on my cock, tits bouncing, you’re absolutely perfect.” He was biting down on his lower lip, that one orgasm seeming to have cleared his mind, because he was right back to being the cocky tease you knew and loved, and as you felt your own peak climbing up, you fell forwards. Hands on his chest to support yourself, he pushed up into you as your nails dug into his chest, revelling in the little bursts of pain, it gave to him. “Please, kitten, you made me feel good. Let me make you feel good, too.”

His eyes were honest, and pure, and the way he bit down on his lower lip as he tried to fuck up into you was your final breaking point. “Yes.”

As soon as the words had left your mouth, you were flipped over, onto your back and his length left you as he did, before wide hands were parting your thighs, a flat tongue smoothing over your folds as he greedily took everything you had to give him, lapping at the slick that coated your thighs, a mixture of you and him, cleaning you of everything that had amounted, and your hands came down to tangle in his hair. Tugging harshly, he growled, biting down on the inside of your right thigh roughly until you yelped, jerking away from him, and he kissed over the patch carefully to soothe it, before two fingers were plunging into your centre and setting a speed you could barely comprehend.

“Mitch!”

“That’s right, sweetheart, scream my name. That’s how it should be.” He was more than boasting, his ego shooting through the roof as your entire body quivered, and he pressed his other hand down flat onto your stomach to pin you down, roughly fucking you onto his fingers as you shot over the edge. Gushing arousal, you cried out, his pace never letting up as your back arched, eyes rolling and your screams went silent at this point, jaw slack. “I want to punish you, I want you to know that torture, but then again, I suppose I deserved it. Now, we’re even. I want you to have a climax like I did.”

“Fuck, I can’t, Mitch!”

“Yes, you can! You said that last time, but you came better than you ever did before. You came so good it went on for almost two full minutes.” He smirked, and you could feel that same kind of blinding ecstasy shooting through you, head to toe as every nerve lit up, and those same fingers left you for a second, before he was filling you up with something much larger. He wasted no time, cock pounding in and out of you as you clung to him frantically, nails dragging marks into his back.

Frenzied kisses, a bruising pace, and then you were exploding, tears running down your cheeks as he eased you through it, following you into a second peak less than before but as he felt you explode, he followed suit. A chant of his name, a series of curses, wet kisses that were more just gasps for breath as your mouths melded lazily, before his sweaty form was collapsing down on top of you, spent and weak, and you held onto him tightly.

Your heart was still racing, so fast you thought it may actually give out, and then he was rolling off of you, trying to catch his breath as that same fucked out but blissful expression took over on his face. “As much as I hated that, I can’t deny that it was incredible.”

“Mhm.”

He cooed, rolling over and pulling you into him as exhaustion and laziness took over, and for a few minutes, you couldn't even force your eyes open. Just the feeling of his fingers stroking up and down your back, tracing your spine as he soothed you, before you were lifting your head, curling into him a little more as you threw a leg over his own, and he gripped onto you tightly.

“Next time, let’s do it the usual way.”

“I absolutely agree.”

He could only laugh, body shaking a little under your touch, before he was bringing his head up to peer at you, catching your lips in a simple kiss, before placing you down in the pillows. Wriggling the blanket out from under your body, he covered both of your naked forms with it, the heat having died down, and you were reaching out for him again, pulling him closer to you as you sought out his warmth and affections.

“I meant it, by the way.”

“Meant what?” You whispered, fingers brushing over a yellowing bruise over his ribs that you hadn't noticed until now, but wanted to heal, and protect him again, now that he was home.

“That you’re my forever.” A hand petting your hair, lips brushing your temple, and you were barely hanging on to consciousness, but these were words you wanted to hear. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you, I love you with everything I have. I know sometimes I’m not great at showing it, but it’s true. Sometimes I just need you to show me the way.”

“Well, you can show it by making me breakfast tomorrow morning.” You joked, a loud laugh leaving him, and you groaned as his chest shook under your cheek, before you were grinning yourself.

“I manage to muster up the ability to say all that soppy shit, and that’s what you give me in return?” He pinched you lightly, happy with himself as you yelped, before he was rubbing the tender spot gently. “I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

#Mitch Rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp x reader smut #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp/reader smut #mitch rapp American assassin #mitch month #mitch-tober #mitchtober #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan obrien american assassin

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og-danny-dorito · 4 years

Text

wAIT and here’s some explanations

Hannibal :

- I mean it’s pretty obvious why he’s up there he’s a god at cooking

- just don’t ask where he gets his meats cause he gives you this really weird smile and side glance before giving a super cryptic answer

- but the salad was good so it’s cool

Ash Williams :

- this man was BORN to cook

- attachable hand parts means he can make an attachable knife extension for his hand and that makes chopping shit 50000% faster. not only that, he now has an excuse to wear his “kiss the cook” apron he found again recently

- the attachment possibilities are endless- spatulas, knifes, spoons, shut maybe even a PAN if you’re feelin REALLY fuckin wild-

Bubba Sawyer :

- his momma def taught him how to cook No I Don’t Take Constructive Criticism

- he’s the master at grilling tho since it’s more of his element, but unlike Hannibal if you ask where the meats came from he’ll just straight up point to the body part of the person and move on with his task of grilling his good ass BBQ

Candyman :

- I mean he cooks well cause he’s a refined gentleman whom likes anything artistic, so Of Course he taught himself how to cook

- doesn’t do it v often but still likes it a lot even tho for some reason, no matter the circumstance, he always manages to burn the bread in the toaster

- damned 21st century technology (his best element is a gas stove since it’s what he’s used to)

Thomas Hewitt :

- v v good at making like a few dishes hearty dishes in particular but can’t really do much else besides those???

- likes to mix it up sometimes with experimentation if he has the time or patience but most of the time he just leaves it to Momma

Stu Matcher :

- his parents are barely ever home because of work so like he usually ends up eating boxed macaroni or frozen pizzas if there aren’t any leftovers in the fridge or, his personal favorite, hot dogs

- he usually just invites billy over for takeout tho so they can spend time together and billy doesn’t have to be around his dad

Jason Vorhees :

- the guy may not have to eat but he misses his momma’s cooking okAY-

- he’ll bust out the cookbook with her own little annotations sometimes just to try and replicate it for nostalgias sake, and even though he can’t really get all the ingredients, he’s gotten really good at remaking some of his personal favorites

- it’s not really the same though, not how he remembers at least

Chromeskull :

- I mean he can kinda cook but like barely though since he has other people to do it for him since he’s ✨rich✨ and stuff

- he can follow box instructions and make grilled cheese with an iron tho if that counts

Billy Loomis :

- can’t cook to save his life but knows how to make boxed macaroni

- he would be a pretty good cook if he had the patience to go through the process of learning

- but his tolerance is so thin that he just says “fuck it” as soon as shit hits the fan and leaves to go to Stu’s house for takeout

Vincent Sinclair :

- surprisingly he actually doesn’t do most of the cooking since him and Bo just eat fast food or sometimes cooked stuff if one of them is feeling up to it

- but he knows how to make a few things and actually knows how to modify recipes to make them better based on deduction and shit like that

- kinda lost on what to do tho so it’s best just to give him a task if you need help

Asa Emory :

- two words: microwaveable lunches

- my G got this shit down to a T on when it’s the right time to take them out, how long it takes to cool down, what cool down applies to what food- he’s basically got everything memorized since he eats them so much

- they’re quick and don’t waste his time, so it’s good enough to him

Bo Sinclair :

- no. fuck no.

- there’s no way in hell hes walking in there- he’s not even all that terrible at cooking but he has this weird habit of setting things WAY to high on the guise that they’ll cook faster, but he gets sidetracked so easily that they burn and he gets pissed off halfway through

- the best course of action is to just avoid that shit show all together and let him eat his sandwich meat and shredded cheese at 3 am in peace

Brahms Hellshire :

- good fucking god- having this oversized man-child in the room while you’re preparing food is like having one of those annoying as dogs who are always at your feet when they smell food

- he’s all up under you for pieces and bits of what you’re cooking and Does Not Stop until you give him what he wants

- and good luck giving him tasks to do to keep him busy, the ass is just gonna drop it and leave if he gets bored or get sidetracked with something else pretty quickly since he doesn’t like labor

Billy :

- what the FUCK is a stove and why are you putting the meat on there

- wait,,, you’re supposed to eat that meat while it’s COOKED? :000 what the hell, can he have some too then? he’s so used to just eating everything by itself since like no one cooked for him as a kid that he just consumes all that’s in sight and moves on like a little rat

- you can give this man an entire piece of raw chicken and he will eat it in front of you like it’s normal cause he’s That Kinda Bitch

Michael Myers :

- y’all sayin this dude is good at chopping and stuff on the assumption that he would willingly cook or enter a kitchen for anything labor intensive in the first place

- like yeah you’re doing great with making that brisket but there’s no way in hell hes chopping those carrots for you

- and yes he’s still eating some, try and stop his 6’7” ass. go ahead, he’s waiting. that’s what he thought now move he’s hungry

Freddy Krueger :

- no, no no no. he’s going to burn the house down if you leave him to his own devices. and not unintentionally. he will burn down the house and the food will be burnt and charred and inedible

- leaving him to just watch over it will result in a worldwide catastrophe, it’s best to just keep him OUT of the kitchen no matter how much he begs you for pieces of what you’re making or steals parts of your ingredients

- the spray bottle will resolve that now resist and keep him OUT

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protectwoc · 4 years

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why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

#john boyega #anti reylo #raetalks

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goosewithasaxophone · 4 years

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Attack On Titan seasons 3+4 Spoilers (and 1 if you haven’t started it or gotten halfway thru it yet)

EVERYONE LISTEN UP OR DONT IDC BUT I JUST FINISHED EPISODE 8 OF AOT AND I HAVE AN IRRELEVANT HEADCANON THAT HELPS ME FALL ASLEEP AT NIGHT

Levi says to the kids (i guess they’re not kids anymore 😭😭😭😭) “Don’t die on me” and i just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA it got me thinking how fuckin TIRED THIS POOR MAN IS of LOSING HIS FRIENDS

he lost his mom as a young child, his squad in s1, Kenny, Erwin and almost Hange (TOO CLOSE MOM TOO CLOSE) in s3, now Sasha in s4 ??? he needs a BREAK !!!!!!!!!!!!

so here’s my headcanon that i think about nonstop ☺️☺️

Levi is alone in his office after they return from the fight between Eren and the other titans. Sasha is put to rest with her things gathered and folded nicely on Levi’s desk to return to her family (are they alive ?? whatever i don’t remember).

He’s sitting at his desk writing a letter to go with Sasha’s things when they’re given back to whomever. Hange walks in, she’s exhausted. They both are. She stands in his doorway watching him. He tells her to come in, his tone gruff and assertive and his voice low and tired. His eyes are dark, even under the light of the lantern on his desk, shedding a low warm glow around the little room.

Hange steps closer and stands behind him where he sits, reading over his shoulder at the letter he’s writing. Beside it, she sees another letter, in fact, it’s a small pile of letters. Each paper has his scribbly writing inked and smudged and aged. She glided her fingers across the sides of the top page in the pile, trying to read them under the dull light. She sees the name “Erwin Smith” appear several times in several variances throughout the letter. Her heart twinges at the heartfelt words in the letter. Underneath that one she searches for other names in the other letters. She sees Petra, Oluo, Eld, and Gunther throughout the other pages.

By the time she finishes reading final letter in the pile she snaps back into the moment and notices Levi writing more aggressively on Sasha’s letter. His pen is taking the pressure from his hands and almost tearing through the paper. Hange has to place her hand on his wrist before he goes too far. He resists and tears a hole in the paper.

“Fuck,” he curses aggressively under his breath. Hange is about to say something, she opens her mouth to try to say something, anything that will reassure Levi that the tear in the page is nothing to fret, he can write another copy. But she knows she can’t say that because his words are authentic and to write another copy would be replicating a feeling already felt. That’s dwelling in the past and Levi doesn’t do that.

So she says nothing, and instead places her hand on his back. If she presses her palm flat against him she can feel his breath grow shallow and rigid. His breathing becomes audible.

Levi does not show emotion. He stares straight ahead and speaks monotonously no matter the situation. He uses his actions as expression and displays loyalty through his behavior.

Unless he’s alone with Hange.

Moments pass and Hange thinks he’s pulled himself together, so she takes a step back. Just as her fingertips lift from the man’s back he slams his fist on the desk and drops his face into his hands. Hange swoops down and throws herself over him like a protective blanket. She snakes her arms around him as far as they’ll go and squeezes tightly.

Levi curls forward from within her embrace and continues to try to control his breathing. He’s failing, they’re both aware, and neither say a word. It’s not until Hange realizes he isn’t going to immediately pull himself together that she takes another action. Shuffling her feet until she’s directly in front of him she brings her arms underneath his and raises him so he’s standing. She can hold him much closer this way.

“Fucking shit,” he sobs. Despite the lack of context Hange knows exactly what he’s talking about. It translated to “Why do I keep losing people?” She says the only thing she can think to say in the moment.

“Not me,” she whispers, feeling her own tears begin to sting her eyes. “Never me.”

“You were too close,” he mumbles. “Don’t ever fucking pull some shit like that again, he growled, remembering back to the sight of her being slammed against the trees, the sound of her voice shouting in pain as she hit the hard surfaces on her way down after her gear failed to suspend her. “That was too fucking close.”

Hange chuckles weakly. “I’ll do my best.”

“No you won’t. Your wreckless ass can’t stand not being at the center of danger.”

“What do you expect, that’s how we learn about things. From the center of them.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“I know.”

He brings his arms around her waist and pulls tightly. She knows he doesn’t mean the things he says. She knows he doesn’t think she’s intellectually stupid. He just doesn’t want to lose her too.

“You’re not gonna lose me, but I can’t lose you either, okay?” she said, trying to take a more encouraging turn. “I can’t handle those stupid kids on my own. Someone’s gotta be around to kick the shit outta them and keep ‘em in line, okay?” He nods against her chest and keeps his face buried in her.

It’s late evenings like these, when they return from some sort of mission, after Levi has changed out of his bloodstained clothes and Hange has restored her messy ponytail and everyone else has settled in for a long awaited rest, that Levi finds himself emotionally more vulnerable. It’s late evenings like these that when Hange is around and they’re alone, he can let himself be vulnerable. She’s his closest remaining partner.

It’s the pile of letters on his desk, never sent out, only ever growing with every additional squad member’s death, that Hange sees Levi’s true colors in. He’s not the cold, distant, abusive caption that everyone fears to anger lest they experience his wrath. He’s the damaged, healing, fragile captain that is so goddamn determined to keep his squads alive because every single time a member dies, another small piece of him dies with them. When the kids came into the picture he had never felt a greater weight on his shoulders. Every boy containing Farlan’s eyes and every girl containing Isabel’s, though no one saw it but him. He had to keep these stupid, wreckless, impulsive kids alive, because if he didn’t, who would?

But now the kids weren’t kids anymore. They were growing up. They were maturing. They were seeing things that toughened their skin and their hearts. They were taking control of their lives and realizing the real important things in life.

Levi was glad he could see them grow up and become wreckless adults instead of their old wreckless selves. But it also scared him, because he used to be that fresh new wreckless adult. And now he was the only one left. Him and Hange.

And that’s why he puts up an emotionless front. Because he and Hange are the last two left. The kids may think they are on their own, but Levi keeps an eye out. He watches and observes and takes pride in their enthusiasm on the good days and stays quietly sympathetic in the defeated hope on the bad ones. He’s watching because he cares so much. And that is what makes him so afraid.

Anyway that took me a half hour to type out because the more i thought about it while writing it the more developed it got. So there’s my big detailed headcanon, probably some misinformation in there but that’s because i don’t always understand what’s going on in the show and i’m far too behind to start the manga now. hope y’all enjoy and can suffer through the rest of the season along with me <3

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thatsbucknasty · 4 years

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she used to be mine (v) waitress au

summary: Inspired by the broadway musical. Y/N Beck is a pie baking force to be reckoned with. She’s pregnant with her lazy ass husband, Quentin Beck’s baby. As everything around her turns upside down, Doctor James Buchanan Barnes charms his way into her life.

pairing: Y/N x Bucky

I will put some warnings in the tags cause I don’t want to spoil everybody but I feel like there are sensitive topics in this one, so go ahead and check the tags!

chapter 5: you will still be mine

You’d think that having an unplanned pregnancy, an unemployed lazy husband and an exhausting job that underpays would be just enough to realize you’re having a bad year. But now, on top of that, said unemployed lazy husband’s truck broke down and I just can’t afford to fix it right now, he’s asking for money cause he already took it to the shop without consulting with me, and it’s not like I can just give him my savings.

He was out all night yesterday, drinking I assume. I have to tell him I’m pregnant. And also, I have to walk to work and to my doctor’s appointment later today, because I can only afford one bus ride per day and usually it would be the one back home from work cause Quentin would drive me in the morning. Life’s just fine and dandy isn’t it?

I’ve seen those videos where women will make a big deal showing their spouse the little pregnancy test and record their reaction. It usually involves tears and hugs and all things pretty, and I can’t help but feel like I’m never gonna have that kind of life. The one with balloons and cake and glitter for the gender reveal party and the baby shower. And I’ve never even wanted those things, but I’m pretty sure Quentin’s reaction will be the farthest from tears and hugs and all things pretty.

“Morning, Y/N, you’re late again. It’s the third time this month”. Sam looks angry at me from the counter, at least he’s back to his grumpy self but I feel bad nonetheless.

“I am so sorry Sam, I swear I’m not doing it on purpose, it’s just that I had to walk and you know 4th street’s closed and-

“Hey, calm down girl. I understand. I know y’all think I’m rude and moody all the time but I just like teasing ya... if you ever need help I can give you a ride in the morning”. Great, now even Sam is pitying me.

“And I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s pitying me’”, he rolls his eyes at me, “but I care about you girls despite all of our bickering. I’m just offering my help cause we’re pals, aren’t we?” He offers me a cup of coffee and I decline but sit down on the stool.

“Why aren’t you drinking coffee Y/F/N?” Oh shit.

“I uh, I-” Shit, shit, shit.

“Y/N?, tell me what’s going on?”

“Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We are pals, we are! But I didn’t want Nick to know cause I thought he might fire me. I’m pregnant”. I finally sigh and hide my face in my hands, trying hard not to cry in front of him. “God, this is embarrassing”.

“Hey! There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. I understand, actually a lot of things make sense now. The girls know, don’t they?” I hum my answer, my face still in my palms.

“Have you told Quentin yet?” I shake my head and look down at the orange juice he puts in front of me instead of the usual coffee, huh, he can be nice when he really wants to.

“You’re in a real conundrum, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am. He hasn’t been working for the past three months. He didn’t come home last night and we fight almost every day. I don’t know when I’ll start showing but my uniform barely fits and my feet are swollen from walking here. It’s just a matter of time until he notices. I can barely afford my doctor’s appointments. Oh! And I might have a tiny crush on him”.

“Your doctor? Wasn’t he married?”

“How did you- nevermind. Well, he’s getting a divorce, but I am married so nothing’s gonna happen either way”.

“Jesus, I wish I could do something to help you. My offer on the ride still stands, okay?”

“Thank you, Sammy. You’re very kind but knowing my husband, he would never allow it. He’d rather I walk with my swollen feet everyday and I don’t wanna fight with him. I’m just so tired”.

“Y/N, I know this ain’t my place but, why are you still with him?”

“I honestly don’t know anymore. I keep making up reasons when Nat tells me to ‘leave his ass’ but I can’t think of any more good ones”.

The diner was very quiet today, most Tuesdays it is because Al’s Pancake World has a discount. Sam swore he’d keep the secret about my little crush. I just don’t want Nat to have more material for insisting I should leave Quentin right now. And now I’m walking over to the doctor’s office.

The air tonight is so crisp and I appreciate how summer is about to end. Fall has always been my favorite time of the year. I can’t wait for the diner to smell like pumpkin pie every day. Speaking of pie, I brought Bucky some leftovers.

“Good evening, Y/N. Oh gosh, you brought pie?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“I’m starting to think I should give you something back, you really didn’t have to”.

“Oh don’t worry about it, it’s just some leftover ‘Kick in the pants pie’, I know, the name’s a little too aggressive but I had a bad week, don’t judge”.

“No one’s judging here. But care to explain the name?”

“I just- I had a fight with my husband earlier, and whenever I wish I could do something that’s not very nice, I just make it into a pie, you know… to express my feelings in a non-violent way”.

“So you wish you could kick your husband’s crotch but you made a pie instead, got it”. It’s insane and we both laugh about it for a minute and he leans back into the exam table. This is nice, having a friend who I can openly talk about my issues with. Wait, are we friends?

“Do you and your husband fight a lot?”

“Um… why are you asking me this?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just- stress is bad for the baby and, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay”, I lean into the exam table next to him, close to him, “we do, we fight a lot. He drives me nuts, and I’m a pain in his ass. That’s just us I guess”.

“I get it. I was a pain in Dot’s ass too”, he scoffs out a cynical laugh and looks at me, “guess she couldn’t deal with that anymore”.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“You can, but I wouldn’t know how to answer. She just got up and left one day. Said she got an internship in New York and we weren’t working anymore, so- she didn’t even give me a real reason, nor a chance to work things out”.

“I’m sorry, Bucky”.

“It’s fine. We always wanted different things. I was raised in a small town and when I went to Chicago for college I was miserable. But I met Dot and I thought life in a big city wouldn’t be so hard if I had her by my side. But then she wanted to do even bigger”.

“Like New York?”

“Yeah. I’m not cut out for that. I love this little town of yours, always did”.

“Oh, so you’ve been here before?”

“Yeah, my grandparents lived here and I would come visit for the holidays. You actually remind me of my grandma”.

“Gee, thanks?” He throws his head back laughing.

“No, I mean because she used to bake like, ten different pies for Thanksgiving. She loved baking. And she was also a little-” He eyes me sheepishly and makes a face.

“A little what, huh?” I smack his arm and try not to laugh at his stupid, cute antics.

“Well, a little strong willed?”

“That’s a euphemism for stubborn”.

“Yeah, it is”. He has the audacity to smirk at me and I can’t help but smile because he says it in a way that feels like a compliment.

Bucky finishes the examination and tells me he’d like to see me again in three weeks. He opens the door for me and we do a little dance of who gets out first. We laugh at each other’s clumsiness and I feel like a teenager. He smells nice, like always. I say goodbye and I find myself hoping the next three weeks go by quickly. I glance at my watch and notice the time. Fuck, has it really been two hours? My appointments usually last thirty minutes tops.

“Hi, Y/N”. Fuck, he’s here already?

“Jesus, Quentin, you startled me. What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to see the game at Phil’s tonight”.

“Yeah? And I thought you were supposed to come home early, you said no extra shifts on Mondays”.

“I- I was-”

“Now don’t lie to me, cause I found your money! That’s right, I did! Why were you keeping money in the closet, huh? I took the money, paid Carl to fix the damn truck and drove over to Nick’s and you weren’t there. That angry redhead chick said you left early, so where, the fuck, were you?” He grabs an empty bottle of beer and throws it against the wall.

“Quentin. Stop it, you’re scaring me! Calm down!”.

“I won’t calm down until you tell me where you were!” He grabs another bottle and raises it above his head, aiming straight at me, I’m frightened and I don’t know what else to do but-

“I’m pregnant!”

Silence. Complete and utter silence. He lowers his arm along with the crystal bottle he’s holding. Tears cascade down my face silently and I can’t help them. I hate crying in front of Quentin but he truly scared me. He’s never been violent towards me. Sure he yells a lot but he never gets like this, and I’m sure he would’ve thrown that bottle at me if I hadn’t told the truth.

“Please say something”.

“You can’t be pregnant, Y/N, and if you are it isn’t mine”. He whispers and I don’t know if I heard him right. I’m at a loss for words for a few seconds.

“Why would you say such a thing? It is yours!”

“No it isn’t! I don’t want it!” He’s yelling again and his words break my heart. If I had the smallest belief that he actually cared for me, it’s gone.

“Quentin? Do you remember that night I went to the Stark’s party with you and we both got drunk? You were wearing your fancy blue shirt with the grey tie, and I had that red dress that you like. This baby is yours. And if you-”

“No, it isn’t! I said it isn’t, Y/N. I- I can’t do this with you, I can’t and I won’t!

“What are you talking about?!”

“You remember Alice? You met her at that party”.

“Right, mini skirt girl, I remember. What about her?”

“She and I-” He looks down at his feet and then back into my eyes and I see it.

“No”. My blood begins to boil. This bastard!

I feel a huge knot in my throat and I can’t breathe. All this time I’ve been grasping for something, anything. Clinging for this marriage to work. Feeling guilty about baking a stupid pie for my doctor, when he’s been sleeping with some girl who’s probably ten years younger than him?!

“No!” I grab the nearest object and throw it at him. And of course it’s a fucking pillow- “Get out! Out, I said! And don’t ever come back!” He’s backing down, opening the door and I yell at the top of my lungs, I don’t care if the neighbors hear me-

“That money you stole from me was for the doctor’s appointments and the hospital bills, I saved up all of that for this baby, your baby, alone! And you’re gonna pay me back! I kept a roof over your fucking head, paid for your fucking beers and you cheated on me? If you ever come near me or this baby I will kill you, you hear me?”

I grab his keys and put them on my apron’s pocket.

“And I’m keeping the stupid truck!”

He leaves, on foot, and just like that I’m a single mother.

“AH!”

What is this? The most terrifying pain strucks my pelvis and I feel a discharge in my underwear. No, no. Baby don’t do this. We are gonna be fine, you and I. I promise. Please. Don’t.

chapter 6: a soft place to land

a/n: pls reblog if you liked it c: and don’t kill me, I promise fluff is coming!

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sonicthecringehog · 3 years

Note

you think me saying someone doesn't care about you is really abusive? yeah i see you posting about me in your discord.

TW: ABUSE; R*PE, SUICIDE, GASLIGHTING. Alrighty gather 'round children - I think I know exactly who you are now so I'm going to lay it down for you, maybe this is me being a sociopath with a victim complex as ableist as that sounds to my followers. Allow me to educate you, even if you think this is manipulation too~ Now, I may have grown up very privileged - considering my mother had escaped literal poverty, and my father escaping a cycle of intergenerational trauma from actual abuse. I will never deny that and I am grateful for all of the things I have and have worked hard for myself. But dude I have clinically diagnosed PTSD that I only just found out about last week after spending a few days in an actual psych ward - they genuinely thought I possibly had either bipolar disorder or schizophrenia because of how bad of a state I was in, I couldn't eat or sleep for days. I learned that when I rushed into a convenience store crying and shaking, and just apologizing constantly because I didn't even have a mask and my phone was dead, so I had no idea how to get to the hospital. I did not want to be turned away yet again out of looking like a walking stereotype (looking at you, Karens). And just before that, confession I broke into a friend’s house because I took his word literally that the door is always open, and someone convinced me I was gaslighting the both of them which is exactly what sent me spiralling to begin with. But anyway, the people at the store were really understanding even if it was just a liability thing, and they called the police for me, and the police contacted a social worker for me to get my story out and they all reassured me that I was doing the right thing - and eventually, I got the help I needed and I realized it's time to take back my life once and for all.

Not even strong antipsychotics like olanzapine, what I'm currently prescribed with, helps me in those times. I wake up with cold sweats, I have constant nightmares I don't tell people about because I don't want to fuck them up the way I got this way. And now I understand why my aunt from my dad's side of the family who was apparently schizophrenic took her own life, and never told anyone her struggles either. And why my dad was so overprotective of me for so long. You see, I live in constant fear for my life because I have dealt with actually violent, clinical psychopaths who only think for themselves and will instead lie through their teeth to make it seem like they'd changed. And they stalk you or just cling onto you, to try and find every little detail about you to use as ammo against you because they know they can, and will manipulate people into thinking you're the one abusing them and manipulating everyone around you until they have no use for you anymore. Lots of shit happened but honestly if I just accepted that "no one cares" and I just learned to "shut the fuck up and think before I speak," like my actual abusers would say... I'd be a single mother living in poverty right now, and I would probably have lost custody of that child to my one abuser at that time because he is exactly like this. I don't like talking about it because I know how triggering it is for some and this might blow up again like a lot of my "controversial" posts, but if I didn't accidentally stress and overwork myself into having a miscarriage in the bathroom at my work, I would have become the walking stereotype my other abusers would try to implant in people's minds. And I feel horrible and responsible for all the shit I'm causing now, because I know of people with diagnosed NPD or ASPD and they're trying to better themselves, and do their part in the world without hurting people. You really can't win no matter what side you're on. Hell, I developed a saviour complex over the course of a few years because I've seen some vulnerable people get taken advantage of like this, too without ever understanding why so they constantly find themselves being abused without realizing it, it's heartbreaking to me. I was r*ped at 7, not from the stereotypical creepy uncle. But a girl my own age who I'm pretty sure was abused herself, which is why I never held anything against her. Maybe it's my Stockholm Syndrome talking again. Regardless, I learned that you can't change a person. The only person you can change is yourself. However, sometimes those strangers who show basic human decency knowing one's past, are that ultimate kick in the ass to motivate people to save themselves.

So let this ask post be a lesson to all of you. These kinds of abusers I had also knew exactly how to dogwhistle me to try and get a reaction, exactly what to say and how to act in front of authority figures - to manipulate them into thinking I was the abuser or whatever ableist walking stereotype they wanted people to think. Hence, I was gaslighted into thinking I was on the autism spectrum my whole life by the people around me growing up, and that my close family and friends were the “real” abusers even though they were trying to help but didn’t know how... without these people even realizing who the real culprits were. Growing up being The Girl Who Cried Wolf even when you did nothing you were aware of, fucks you up for life, my friend. And that's exactly what they wanted. Maybe I do need a break from social media as even my family doctor says, maybe I do need to let myself be "cancelled" again to grow stronger from this. Because I'm not saying you specifically are abusive or a bad person per se, because I don’t even know who you are, I could have easily deleted and ignored this. But just let people live and stop trying to take away what little innocence they have left that they lost at a very early age... out of being too comfortable in your own magical fantasy world of self-pity to get your own shit together. Because shit like this is exactly why I overwork myself and get these "manic" episodes as my abusers called it, as live in fear that I might actually get shot one day when things seem to finally be stable and peaceful. Hell, I might never be able to get a real job because of shit like this. But if you want to report my posts again on my Instagram which I'm pretty sure was you at this point, go right ahead. Because you need to grow the fuck up... and to the other people reading this, don't ever let anyone tell you that no one cares or your feelings aren't valid, because there are people who do understand and will help you, even if to them you're just a passerby on the street. Because people do care.

This kind of cancel culture and bullying people out of getting help without giving them a chance to explain themselves, while doxxing and overanalyzing every post one says to use against them... has been so normalized in our society that we often do glorify the people who show basic human decency. When it should have been the standard all along. On to the point, I wish you all a wonderful journey to a beautiful recovery too - I might not be active for a bit because I think I need a break ^_^'

TL;DR: Don't feed the trolls, kiddies, but don't let them win out of fear that no one will believe you even with concrete proof. To make a bad Sonic reference - if you see someone abusing their power over you and doesn't want you to thrive because they think you're nothing more than some welfare queen attention whore... THATS NO GOOD~

(Also excuse all the edits, I’ve been spiralling mentally because holy shit I don’t appreciate being stalked and doxxed y’all regardless of who is doing this... so I’m keeping this post up as a reminder to all of you to just not feed the trolls and keep moving forward. Hell, someone on Snapchat kept stupidly adding me by my number for a few months on and off, so this is why I get in these situations where I’m kiiiinda scared for my life. I admitted myself to the hospital but ended up leaving after asking for resources for these kinds of situational crises. Oof. ^_^”)

Anyways, toodle-oo fuck you too bitch. ;)

~ Serena

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years

Text

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully.

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s.

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her.

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again.

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought.

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #not gonna melt down in the tags even though i wanna #just. thank you all so so so much. this has been incredible to write and enjoy and make so many friends #yes i am crying do not LOOK at me

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi? (Gigi x Nicky) - Peridot

A/N: Y’all wanted domme Nicky and sub Gigi? You’re welcome.

This is a little lesbian one shot I wrote for the season 12 girls because I’m really enjoying them! I haven’t written a fic since December, so I’m sorry if I’m a little rusty! Also go easy on me, I don’t usually write smut and I only did the tiniest bit in this, so be gentle. Please leave me some feedback, I’d love to hear what you think of this! Also come say hi at my sideblog @artificialperidot, because I wanna make friends!

Summary: Gigi didn’t think anybody could make her sub. That was, until she met miss Nicky Doll.

Hope you enjoy!

The pair stumbled through the door of Nicky’s apartment, Nicky’s hands an iron grip on Gigi’s wrist, practically dragging the girl. The door shut with a click, and in a split second Gigi found herself shoved against it, boxed in by Nicky’s arms.

“Put your hands above your head, bitch.”

“There’s no way”

Gigi rolled her eyes and took a sip of her strawberry mocktail whilst the group around her snickered. She and her flatmates Heidi, Jackie and Jan were out for drinks at their local bar, sitting in a leather booth with some unrecognisable 90s beat playing over the speakers, barely audible over the chatter of people. It was their first night out in a long time, a celebration for Jackie’s new job offer in a weekly cabaret show. Gigi, however, wasn’t drinking with her friends - she knew how fast Heidi could get her drunk, and she was not about to have another crazy night, and was not about to let her friends get to that stage, either. The last one had been christened, “The milkshake incident” and Gigi had never quite lived it down. And she did not intend to have a repeat tonight.

But, as things often did when they had a girls night, the conversation quickly turned to sex.

“Oh come on, G,” Heidi exclaimed, “Are you saying no one in God’s universe could make you sub?”

“Highly doubt it.”

“Not even if you hadn’t had sex in years?”

“Nope.”

“Damn, I knew you were a control freak, but didn’t know you cared that much.” Jan quipped, received a chuckle from the group.

“Yeah, well, that and the fact that I don’t think anyone could turn me on enough for me to listen to them,” Gigi added. “Like, I’d have to be about to fucking explode before I’d let some bitch tell me what to do.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” said Jackie.

“What do you mean?”

“You think no one could turn you on that much?”

Gigi shrugged. “I don’t think so. Girls are hot, but no one’s that hot.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Well, let’s make things interesting then. Let’s arrange a hook up for you. If we can find a bitch that’s hot enough to make you sub, then you’re buying our drinks next time.”

“Ooh bitch, I like the sound of that,” Heidi chirped.

Gigi scoffed. “And if I win?”

“Then… then we’ll never bring up the milkshake incident again.”

Gigi paused. Now that would be worth it. “Deal,” she said, reaching out a hand to shake Jackie’s across the table, to the excited squee of Jan and the ‘ooohs’ of Heidi. “This sounds amazing. I’m getting a free hookup out of this, and I get to dom. I can’t lose.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Miss Goode,” Jackie commented, tapping at her phone screen, which she kept hidden from Gigi. “I have some contacts.”

Jackie couldn’t keep the mischievous grin from her face. “Who did you have in mind?” Heidi asked her, leaning over her shoulder to look at her phone.

“Just a little friend of mine, from back in New York.”

“Girl, if it’s who I’m thinking of, Miss Gigi doesn’t stand a chance!” Jan added.

Jackie smiled mischievously at Jan, giving her a knowing look, before leaning over and whispering something indecipherable into Heidi’s ear, which sent her reeling. “No way! Oh, this bitch stands no chance!” she exclaimed, a little too loudly for Gigi’s liking. “Drinks for us next Saturday bitches!”

Jan laughed, and Gigi rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be too confident. I can be intimidating when I wanna be.”

“Do you wanna be intimidating all the time then? Cause you are a scary bitch,” Heidi added, receiving a giggle from the group. “Seriously I’d still be frightened of you if I hadn’t seen the milkshake incident go down with my own eyes.”

The girls began cackling with laughter, and to save her embarrassment, Gigi laughed along too.

At least after tonight she’d never have to hear about it again.

This should be easy.

After about an hour or so of cocktails and a trip to the dance floor (where Heidi decided to give everyone in the bar some dance lessons, whether they were willing or not), Jackie disappeared and returned with a woman following along behind her.

“Gigi, there’s a little someone I want you to meet,” Jackie grinned. “This is Nicky. Nicky Doll.”

Jackie stepped to the side, and forward walked a woman. A woman who looked as if she was straight from the covers of vogue.

Gigi couldn’t deny that the woman standing in front of her was beautiful. Fuck, she may have just been one of the most gorgeous women she’d ever seen. Long blonde hair, dark features, and a body to die for. She wore a tight red mini dress that showed off her perfect curves and tiny waist, with a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders, embroidered with roses. She exuded sultriness, in the sort of way that made you certain that she knew just how sexy she was. Her bedroom eyes looked Gigi up and down like a predator surveying its prey, and a smile formed from her pursed lips.

Fuck.

She’s good.

Well, two can play at that game.

Gigi strutted over to the woman, swaying her hips, and slowly reached out a hand for her to shake. “Good evening, Nicky.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow and took her hand, gripping it firmly. “Nice to meet you, darling,” she drawled, her tone exuding confidence. “You want me to top her, Jackie? Shouldn’t be a problem.”

It was then that Gigi picked up on her accent, and her heart jumped a little. It took her a second to distinguish it, but after years of french class in high school, her ear was attuned to the pronunciation.

French. Fucking French?

Somehow it made her ten times hotter.

But, Gigi wasn’t about to back down yet.

“It might be a problem, seeing I’m head and shoulders taller than you,” she quipped, quirking an eyebrow and lifting her chin.

“At least I’m not a skinny little bitch,” Nicky quickly shot back, taking Gigi off guard. “She looks like one of those inflatable car advertisements, you know, the one with the flailing arms.”

The group began to laugh, including Gigi, trying desperately to brush off the joke and not show a crack in her armour. The little jolt in her chest when Nicky looked at her didn’t help make matters any easier.

Of course Jackie just happened to know this gorgeous French supermodel who was just as intimidating as Gigi, maybe even more so. This bet wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed.

Either way, she was so fucking glad she was going to fuck this bitch tonight.

The sound of Jackie’s voice shook Gigi out of her daydream. “So guys, are you still willing to go home together tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. She’s really hot,” Gigi said, in her sexiest voice. “Can’t wait to see her on her knees.”

Nicky didn’t flinch at Gigi’s last sentiment. She simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say are you kidding?

Gigi would be lying if she said that it didn’t turn her on. Slightly.

“Well, Nicky?” Jackie prompted.

“Eh, she’s not bad looking herself.” Nicky shot Gigi a smirk. “I’m up for it.”

“Great,” Jackie said with a clap of her hands. “The bet’s on! Now, who’s for another round of drinks? On me!”

The sentence was met by whoops and cheers from Jan and Heidi, and the girls slunk their way through the crowd towards the bar, Gigi and Nicky following after them.

Gigi felt an arm slide around hers, interlocking them, and felt a voice by her ear.

“Darling, I’m just checking you’re staying sober for tonight?” Nicky said in a hushed tone. The breath on Gigi’s skin made her shudder just a bit.

“Of course,” she replied with mock confidence. “I wouldn’t be comfortable any other way.”

“Good,” Nicky replied. “And, I want to check that no matter what goes down tonight, you're ok with it? Like, if you don’t top you are still comfortable.”

Gigi smiled. It was cute that she checked. “I’m comfortable with whatever goes down, though that shouldn’t be a problem for me anyway.”

“Good,” Nicky said matter-of-factly, before slipping her arm out from its entwinement with Gigi’s and starting to walk ahead of her to catch up with the group. She stopped after a second though, turning her head back to Gigi and waiting for her to catch up. She leant into her, her voice even more low and hushed than before.

“And don’t get too confident, baby. It’s not cute,” she said, giving Gigi a tap on the ass, before walking ahead of her again as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t enough to hurt - it was barely enough for Gigi to even feel it. But it made her stop in her tracks, rendered immovable.

Gigi gulped. She didn’t know if it was possible for a human heartbeat to exceed 100 miles per hour, but she was sure that hers had gotten pretty close.

Shit.

Gigi wasn’t sure if it was the pounding of the music through the speakers, or the pounding of her heart that made her feel lightheaded, but after a while she needed to sit down. Not wanting to bother her friends, who were busy laughing and dancing and spilling their cocktails all over the dance floor, she left their group and made her way over to a booth at the side of the room, resting her elbows on the table. She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t make the loud beat or the flashing strobe lights go away, but at least it stopped her head spinning a little.

After all, the thoughts swimming in her brain were enough for her head to deal with.

All she could think about was Nicky.

Before long, she felt someone slide into the booth beside her, a hand moving to rest on the small of her back.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to guess who it was.

“Are you alright, my darling?” a thick french accent murmured.

Gigi opened her eyes to face the girl beside her, whose eyes were wide with concern.

“I’m okay Nicky, thanks. Just felt a little lightheaded, that’s all.”

Nicky flashed her a caring smile. “It’s okay Gigi. You can rest your head on me if you need to, that might help.” Gigi smiled gratefully at her, before laying her head on the shorter girl’s shoulder. Nicky began rubbing her back in small circles, comforting her. “Do you need any water?”

“I’m okay, thanks. I’m starting to feel better already.”

“I’m glad.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, Nicky soothing Gigi, and Gigi trying to conceal her inner panic. She’d never met someone like Nicky before. Never. No one had ever turned her on as fast, for a start. And, she seemed to genuinely care about her, and they’d only just met for Christ sake.

Let’s just say, Gigi was pretty excited to go home with her tonight. She was even more excited to see her again after tonight, though. On a date.

That is, if she plucked up the courage to ask her.

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Nicky began stroking Gigi’s hair, softly and gently, being careful not to mess it up, and Gigi melted into the touch. “You okay down there?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to stay like this for a little while.”

“That’s okay. I like it too, ma crevette.”

Gigi’s eyes blinked open with confusion. “What does that mean?”

Nicky paused and smiled. “You’ll laugh.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a term of endearment in french, sort of like ‘my darling’,” she started, “but the literal translation is ‘my shrimp.’

The two girls began silently laughing to each other, like two school girls giggling over a secret. “You’re joking!”

“I’m serious! French is weird when you put it into English.”

“I used to study french, you know. Back in high school.”

Nicky looked impressed. “Really?”

“Yeah, but I can barely remember any of it. It was the only class I consistently failed,” she laughed. “That and basic math.”

“Speak some french for me Gigi. I’ll be the judge of that.”

Gigi racked her brain, trying to come up with something more interesting than ‘bonjour’ or ‘je m’appelle Gigi’, when she remembered a little song from ‘Moulin Rouge’ that she thought would fit the bill perfectly.

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Their little booth erupted into fits of giggles, Nicky barely able to comprehend her choice of phrase. Gigi watched closely, loving the way her nose screwed up when she laughed, and the toothy grin that took over her face.

Gigi didn’t know it was possible to be sexy and adorable, but she’d been proven wrong.

“Someone’s seen ‘Moulin Rouge’,” Nicky laughed.

“Well? Is that a yes? Oui or non?” Gigi persisted, leaning her shoulder into Nicky’s side.

Nicky shook her head and rolled her eyes with a sense of disbelief, but she didn’t try and stop the smile from creeping over her lips.

“Oui, my darling,” she laughed, before planting a kiss on Gigi’s cheek. “But, just because I’m being nice now doesn’t mean I’ll be nice later when I’m punishing you.”

Gigi felt a pang in her chest, and bit the inside of her lip, despite her ambivalence. She was embarrassed of the way it turned her on. The thought of Nicky doing what she wants to her, having her way with her, was so sexy.

But the thought of Nicky down on her knees for her, was a pretty tempting thought too. So, she concealed the way her heart leapt out of her chest by raising an eyebrow, hoping her dark features and intimidating aura would have the same effect on Nicky as she had on her.

“Bold of you to assume you won’t be the one getting punished,” Gigi said, glaring into Nicky’s eyes and hoping she matched Nicky’s ice-cold stare.

Nicky scoffed, an evil smirk forming on her pursed lips. “Oh please. Tell that to the girl who was lying on my shoulder 5 minutes ago, letting me pet her and stroke her hair. Or the girl who let me spank her earlier with no retaliation,” she started, her predator gaze burning into Gigi’s skin, making her want to squirm. “Face it, you’ve been practically begging for me to top you all night. You’re so pathetically desperate for it.”

Fuck.

Gigi’s breath quickened, the rise and fall of her chest matching the speed of her frantic heartbeat, sending adrenaline all around her body, electricity shooting down her legs and arms to the tips of her fingers.

Nicky saw that Gigi’s mask was slipping, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Gigi wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or her anger that made her primal instincts kick in, but suddenly she was on top of Nicky, attacking her in a kiss. She used her height to her advantage, leaning over the smaller kiss and cupping her face, as she kissed her with a passion and strength that she wasn’t sure she still had in her.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues, mostly because Gigi was overcome with desire and desperation and a strength of emotion she’d never felt before.

As for Nicky, she kissed back with more precision, but fuelled by the same fire that drove Gigi. She clutched Gigi’s wrist as she kissed her, so hard that Gigi was sure there would be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. Her movements were more controlled, as if she was set upon taking Gigi apart with ease and leisure, not allowing the other’s frantic movements to make her lose her cool.

When they pulled apart for air, Gigi wasn’t quite sure who’d won in their battle for dominance.

Before she could say another word, Nicky leaned up, so that the two were drawn level with each other, their noses practically touching as they stared into each other’s eyes with animalistic lust. “Someone’s touchy,” Nicky said with a cocky smirk. “Was that a little too close for comfort, darling?”

Gigi didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to respond, now that Nicky could see through her facade. Instead she simply bit the inside of her lip and broke the eye contact, too ashamed of her feelings to look Nicky in the eyes.

Her fucking beautiful eyes.

Nicky reached a hand up to Gigi’s face, delicately tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, before holding up her chin to face her. “Asked you a question, baby.”

Gigi felt a hand slide around her waist, pulling her in closer. Looking at the woman in front of her, Gigi was sure she’d never wanted someone as much in her life. She was so embarrassed, so ashamed that she was so turned on, and somehow it fuelled the emotion and made it even stronger.

She didn’t give a shit about who topped anymore. She just needed Nicky.

“Fuck the bet.”

Nicky smiled, tapping her nose. “That’s what I like to hear, baby. Call us a taxi. If you can still talk, that is.”

The taxi ride felt like the longest ride of her life. The only thing that kept Gigi tethered to reality was Nicky’s hand clutching hers tightly. But it couldn’t distract her from the aching need between her legs, and the quickening of her breath, which verged on hyperventilation at this point.

They sat in silence for a while, Gigi too consumed by her own thoughts, and Nicky having played the ‘I don’t speak much English’ to avoid awkward small talk with the taxi driver. The silence was broken, however, when Nicky leaned in and started placing butterfly kisses all over Gigi’s neck, feather-light. Gigi couldn’t help but melt into the touch, closing her eyes tight and imagining that they were anywhere but stuck inside a taxi, seatbelts holding them firmly in place. Gigi enveloped her in another frantic kiss, all teeth and tongues, and Nicky bit the other girl’s lower lip, reclaiming her dominance and causing Gigi to inhale sharply.

Before she knew it she was palming at Nicky’s chest over her red dress, longing for some sort of contact, and Nicky was sucking a precise mark onto Gigi’s neck that left her writhing. It caused a whine to escape from Gigi’s lips, a desperate, needy whine that made Nicky swear under her breath, and without a second for Gigi to comprehend what was happening, a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth.

It was animalistic, really, the way they clutched at each other. The bet was long forgotten in Gigi’s mind. She had never felt so strongly about another woman, never wanted anyone like this before. She was usually the one in control, the one who had made countless other girls writhe beneath her in the past.

Oh how the tables had turned.

When the taxi pulled up slowly at a red light, the two were so enamoured with each other to notice the driver, glaring at them from the rear view window.

“Ahem.”

Startled by the noise, the girls pulled themselves off each other in surprise and embarrassment, sitting up straight like they'd been caught cheating on a test. The cab driver shot each of them a dirty look from the mirror, making Gigi wonder if he was homophobic or one of those uptight straight guys that doesn’t like anyone messing up their car. Either way, that typically wasn’t the type of person Gigi liked.

Nicky shot him an affronted look in the mirror, eyes wide with disbelief, as if to say how dare he. “Do you need some medicine for that cough?” she said in her most sarcastic tone. “Or, uh, how you say….. some manners?”

The driver was silent.

Gigi was proud that they managed to sit in silence for about thirty seconds. But the moment Nicky made eye contact with her, the two erupted into fits of uncontrollable laughter, giggling like schoolchildren and trying to suppress their amusement with whispered pleas of ‘shhh!’ and ‘shut up!’ that were of no avail.

Needless to say, if the driver didn’t like them before that, he certainly didn’t like them now.

Between laughs, Nicky called out a ‘here’s fine’ to the driver, who was very excited to see the back of the pair of laughing hyenas from his car. Nicky tossed him a couple of bills, before pulling Gigi out of the car by her wrists, the two still unable to suppress their laughter.

They stumbled down the street as if they were both drunk, falling over each other and cackling, too caught up in their happiness to feel the cold chill on their skin.

It almost distracted Gigi from the need between her legs.

Almost.

“My apartment is a couple blocks away, but I couldn’t sit in that cab any longer,” Nicky chuckled. “A walk won’t do us any harm, anyway.”

Gigi smiled, her gaze lingering over Nicky’s for a little too long. “Babe, you’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

Nicky cocked her head to the side, bemused. “And what makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. It’s like I’ve known you for years. You’re so fun. And so nice,” she started, grabbing onto Nicky’s arm. “And simultaneously a complete bitch.”

Nicky smirked. “I thought you were being nice for a second, but I’ll take it.”

“Bitch, you knew exactly what you were doing to me at the bar. You can’t tell me that wasn’t a dick move.”

“You liked it though.”

Gigi laughed, biting her lip slightly. “Hate to admit it.”

Nicky looked amused. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, darling.”

“You’re cute all the time. Drop dead fucking gorgeous, actually.”

“You’re one to talk, pretty girl.”

Gigi would be lying if she didn’t feel herself blush a little at that.

“So, about tonight… do you still want me to top? Because if you’re not comfortable we can-“

“No! No, no, I want you to top. Please.”

“Are you sure darling? Because if you want-“

“I’m sure. I don’t think I could top you if I tried.”

Nicky laughed to herself. “Aw, she finally admits it at last.”

“Fuck you,” Gigi whined, hitting Nicky playfully on the arm.

Nicky raised her eyebrows, a stern expression creeping onto her face. “None of that language baby. I wanna make you feel really good, darling, but I can only do that if you’re a good girl for me, okay?”

Gigi felt a lump in her throat. “I’ll try. I’ve never done this before though. Subbed.”

��That’s okay, angel, we don’t have to go too far.” Nicky smiled reassuringly at the girl. “But I know what I’m doing. I know how to make you feel really really good, so I need you to trust me, okay?”

Gigi wasn’t sure why, but she did.

“Put your hands above your head, bitch.”

“You get into character quickly, don’t you?” Gigi remarked, staring directly into Nicky’s eyes, which were centimetres from her face. She felt the weight of Nicky’s hips pressing harder into hers, forcing her against the hard wood of the apartment door.

“Don’t be cocky, baby. I already told you it’s not a good look,” Nicky replied, grabbing Gigi’s wrists and holding them above her head herself.

Nicky’s pupils were blown wide, and they scanned the face of the girl before her with an intimate precision that Gigi had never witnessed before. Gigi smirked. She liked this new side to Nicky, this dominant persona who seemed set upon making her unravel.

But of course, Gigi wasn’t about to make things easy for her.

With that, she leaned forward and planted another kiss on Nicky’s parted lips, her tongue sliding into her mouth and her eyes closing shut, transfixed by the softness that she buried herself into.

The kiss was short-lived, however, when Nicky pulled away sharply, one arm pushing Gigi back against the door. Her head bumped against it lightly, and a stern gaze took over Nicky’s features, a mixture of anger and lust. “Thought you were going to be a good girl for me, angel,” she said, tucking a strand of Gigi’s hair behind her ear. “Good girls don’t touch without permission.”

“I can’t help it. You just look so good,” Gigi husked, biting her lip sensually, and Nicky let out a shattered breath, Gigi’s dilated pupils meeting her own.

Nicky slid her knee in between Gigi’s thighs. “If you don’t start behaving, we’re going to have a problem.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

In one swift motion, Nicky pulled Gigi forward by her wrists, landing a slap on her ass over her black dress. “Bedroom. Now.”

The night was a blur of silk bed sheets and passion. The smell of sweat and sex was in the air, the cool breeze from the open window mingling with the heat on their skin. The marks of ropes around Gigi’s wrists and scratches on her skin and love-bites on her neck were still there the next day. And, so was Nicky, to Gigi’s surprise.

Gigi was the first to awaken of the two the next morning. The New York skyline was illuminated by the golden sunrise that seeped through the silk curtains. The plump pillow that Gigi’s head was buried in was soft against her bare skin, and she propped it up against the bed frame, sitting up a little as she stretched and yawned, hands rubbing her eyes. The cold morning air hit her shoulders as she made herself comfortable.

She found herself with only the littlest portion of blanket keeping her decent - the rest was wrapped around Nicky like a sleeping bag, and she curled it up in her arms like she was cuddling a toy.

She presumed that the duvet was her replacement for Gigi when she had rolled over.

Gigi looked down at the woman beside her, laying on her side, her face a picture of peacefulness. Her blonde hair was spread out on the pillow around her head like a halo, and even the remnants of mascara and eyeliner around her eyes didn’t distract from the purity of her features. Her mouth was open just a little, and soft breaths escaped her lips as her chest rose and fell like a metronome.

She was beautiful.

Gigi was extremely glad that she had let her stay the night at her apartment. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to make it home after the night she had.

Looking at Nicky fast asleep, Gigi would have never believed that it was the same woman from last night.

But, she was glad that it was. She liked that Nicky could be sexy and dominant, and then immediately switch back to being caring and sweet.

The sentiment was true last night, with Nicky offering Gigi all the cuddles and kisses she could as they drifted to sleep. Gigi remembered falling asleep to Nicky aimlessly stroking her hair, whispering something french in her ear.

And god did Gigi need that.

The night was the hottest in Gigi’s life. Nicky had tied her to the bedposts, and made her beg for her to eat her out. When she finished, Gigi found herself doing the same for Nicky, her head being roughly thrust between her legs. And then she was being fingered, and the cycle continued until she’d come more times than she could remember.

It was dirty and humiliating, but god it was hot.

The best part though, was that she got to know Nicky some more. She was surprisingly such a sweetheart, taking such good care of Gigi after they played. Gigi didn’t think anyone could make her want to sub, but she especially didn't expect it to be someone who was really kind.

Trust Jackie to know the perfect woman.

It was then that Gigi remembered the bet.

Shit.

She knew that even if she didn’t admit that she subbed, her friends would find out one way or another. Drinks were on her this weekend. Good thing she’d saved a little money. She guessed she’d be hearing about the milkshake incident for a little while longer, too.

That was ok, she supposed. After the night she’d had with Nicky, it was worth the embarrassment.

Besides, without the bet she would’ve never met Nicky.

She looked down at the still sleeping girl, her nose scrunched and her brows furrowed. She was adorable.

Gigi was definitely going to ask her out on a date.

Maybe they could go get some milkshakes together.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi x nicky #gigi goode #nicky doll #lesbian au #fluff #smut #peridot #concrit welcome #tw dom/sub dynamics #s12

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ofmargos · 4 years

Text

chicago’s very own margo rosas has been spotted on madison avenue , with a striking semblance to camila mendes ! you may know them as @margo or hitting the front page of tmz as margo rosas is making her comeback on broadway ! according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re overdramatic , but being passionate might help you . things that would paint a better picture of you would be the sound of stilettos hitting the pavement , the thunderous sound of applause , and having the poise of a well-mannered lady but the mouth of a sailor . ( cis female + she / her )

omg hey y’all it’s ya girl lia back at it again with the broadway b*tch herself , margo ! fun fact : i’ve been writing for margo off n on for THREE years ?? that’s wild . no matter what i do i cannot get rid of this muse akjsdnk but i love her and i hope y’all do too ! under the cut is far too much info on her ( i’m sorry it’s long !! ) pls go ahead and give this post a like if you give me consent to come bug you in the im’s / discord ! <3

*+:｡.｡ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 ｡.｡:+*

–;; 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: Margaret Lucia Rosas – ;; 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬): Margo ( preferred name ), Mars, Mar, Pain in the Ass, Drama Queen – ;; 𝐀𝐠𝐞: Twenty-Three – ;; 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁: 31 October 1997 – ;; 𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜: Scorpio sun, scorpio moon, leo asc ( yikes ) – ;; 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: Cis Female – ;; 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Bisexual Biromantic – ;; 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 5ft 2 – ;; 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞: Chicago, IL – ;; 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Luxurious apartment in Manhattan – ;; 𝐎𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Singer / Songwriter + Broadway Performer ( Julia Michaels VC ) – ;; 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: Passionate, creative, dramatic, distrusting, outgoing, ambitious, fun-loving, loyal, daring, sarcastic, stubborn, overconfident, impulsive, hard-working, petty, secretive, short-tempered, vindictive

*+:｡.｡ 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 ｡.｡:+*

*TW: undiagnosed illness, death

grew up as an only child in chicago, illinois. her family was definitely in the middle class but her parents both worked hard to provide their pride and joy with everything she could’ve wanted out of life

and it became apparent early on that what margo wanted was to perform. she was always singing around the house, putting on one-woman shows for her parents, and following along to the choreography of her favorite DCOM on tv. and in order to keep her satisfied, and also out of the house while they were both working, her parents threw her into an abundance of performing arts classes: ballet, tap, and jazz classes + singing lessons + acting workshops-- you name it. it was a very expensive hobby but her parents were willing to put in the extra work hours to fund her passions

she honestly grew up blissfully unaware of the sacrifices her parents were making on her behalf. they just never made her feel like she was inconveniencing them in any way. if she wanted to spend her day turn acting, singing, and dancing then so be it. they supported her emotionally and financially 100%

*ILLNESS TW* but the rose-tinted glasses were ripped from her eyes around the age of fourteen / fifteen. her mom had always had a weak immune system-- the first one to catch a cold or the flu, knocking her on her ass and leaving her bedridden for days at a time. it only got worse as years went on and she avoided doctor appointments out of fear of being charged unnecessary costly fees. she downplayed her compromising situation for as long as she could until she physically couldn’t carry on any more and had to stop going to work

margo and her father urged the stubborn woman to seek medical attention for any sort of relief for months until she finally conceded. soon it became the new norm for her mother to be in and out of hospitals, getting tests done, trying various medications. but nothing helped in the long-term and they were unable to come to a strict diagnosis *ILLNESS TW END*

and she had been right, it was terribly expensive. their funds were short considering the family was down to one income. so margo took on more responsibilities by working part-time jobs as well as going to school. she was sixteen and teaching dance lessons at her childhood studio in exchange for a small amount of pay + free lessons as well as working at a local movie theatre 6 days a week. she cut back on extracurricular lessons to save some money, instead pouring all her creative energy into only school related clubs such as choir, theatre, and so on

honestly, if you knew margo in high school you’d likely not even know about her familial situation. she liked to keep her cards close to her chest and portrayed herself as this larger than life character that no one would believe had experienced any hardships. she distracted from her own worries by playing the role of ‘queen bee’ or more accurately rachael berry from glee ( a cursed character at this point but it’s true unfortunately )

margo had big dreams of making it to broadway one day and had planned to get there by going to college in new york and make a name for herself. but with her mother’s healthy declining the closer margo got to graduation, the more put off she was by the idea of moving away from home. she was willing to put all plans for her future on hold and take care of her mother but her parents wouldn’t let her. being as encouraging as ever, they convinced her that she needed to follow her dreams. she had already given up a majority of her teenage years to help them out when they needed it most. they wouldn’t let her miss out on anything else

so with a heavy heart but on a good scholarship, she left for columbia university without any idea of what to expect. new york was a whole new world for her and she was thrown off by how talented, beautiful, and wealthy her peers were. she had felt like a big fish in a really small pond during her high school days. but for once she was a tiny fish in the big wide ocean

her larger than life persona came back into play-- masking her worries and insecurities with a version of herself that was so confident that she even began to fool herself. she got a bit lost in the fantasy. her true self-slipping away. she almost had this alter ego ??? ( come thru hannah montana moment okay ) wannabe starlet rubbing elbows with the future CEOs and celebrities of the world by day and local pizza parlor waitress by the night, working to make a decent living while also sending money back home when she could

she also had to maintain good grades to keep her scholarship and participate in performances that her department put on in order to rise in the ranks

honestly the only time she got a little peace was when she was hanging out with her few GOOD friends. like the people that actually got to know her past her fake personality. they were also music people so they spent a lot of time together just messing around with instruments and vocals and writing songs in their own little makeshift studio / hangout spot

it started off as just fun and games, but with their help margo created some original songs and released them as an indie artist. she put herself out there on her social media profiles like “hey stream my new single!!!!!!” and people ate it up. after releasing a few tracks and establishing her own following, her music eventually got to the right people and she was given the opportunity to sign to an actual label which was wild ???

and while it was an amazing opportunity, releasing music under the label was also very demanding. when she was releasing music from the comfort of her friend’s studio it was purely a fun creative outlet and done on her own time. it was just... rough. but how could she complain when she was making a name for herself in the music industry + making bank from royalties + getting to meet all these cool famous people and go to parties with them and y’know ... spiral and slack off on other responsibilities

*DEATH TW* it was around her junior year that things started to go from bad to worse. she remembers exactly where she was and what she was doing when she got the call from her dad informing her of her mom’s extended stay in the hospital. things weren’t looking too good. there wasn’t anything they could do for the older lady and honestly she was done fighting. margo flew back home to chicago immediately and stayed at her childhood home for the following weeks until her mother passed. it was absolutely devastating. she stayed in chicago with her dad for months as they worked through their grief together *DEATH TW END*

columbia was pretty understanding of her situation and was willing to be accommodating so she could finish her degree plan, but margo put things off for so long that she eventually just withdrew from the university and was dead set on just living in chicago forever

i’m not gonna lie, margo was down and out for a little while. didn’t talk to anyone really, rarely left the house, stopped making music, and just sorta fell off completely. the only good thing that came out of the year or so that she spent back home was she stepped away from the false reality she created for herself in new york, which helped her realize that she didn’t love the person she was becoming or the things she was doing. she wasn’t even really involved with her one true passion which was theatre / acting

it was with a little boost from her dad ( literally her biggest fan , i love this man okay ) that she started acting like herself again. he told her that her mom wouldn’t want her to give up on everything and neither would he. so with a new found determination ( and a pretty exciting career opportunity ), margo put on her big girl pants and moved her ass back to new york to finally do what she loves to do

and here we are now ! she’s stepping into her break-out role onto broadway as lydia deetz in bettlejuice the musical

she’s only been back in new york for a few months at this point i’d say ??? and i can’t wait to see her come into her own and grow into the margo i know and love ... but also hate because she’s so so dumb :-) <3

*+:｡.｡ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 & 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒｡.｡:+*

she has no chill, probably will never have any chill, and i am sorry for that ASJNDLK she’s just overdramatic as hell !!! she’s a theatre kid at heart and i would expect absolutely nothing less from her

generally good-natured though and has good intentions. just simply has piss-poor execution sometimes

down to clown and ready to have a good time all the time all in the name of enjoying life to its fullest while we all have a chance

the only thing she takes seriously is her work life. she’s on her grind okay, it took a lot for her to get to where she is today and she’s not going to just let it slip away that easily. she’s doing everything she can to make not only herself proud but her parents :’-)

still releases her own music under the label but her primarily focus is on her budding broadway career and the label is understanding of that ... mostly because she called an executive meeting ( against her manager’s better judgement ) and was super up front and threatened to walk out if they didn’t see reason ... but at least things worked out well !!!

she mostly writes songs for other people at this point in her career. some big names too ( just like ... google julia michael’s career and apply it to margo okay thank u )

honestly her management teams worst nightmare simply because she does not listen and will do whatever she wants and post whatever she wants and will not apologize for being her authentic self in media

like, she’s just starting to figure out who she is again and they want her to stop and act fake because she’s not being very “family-friendly” or because it doesn’t make her “look good to the public” ??? nah f*ck that !

while she is sociable and fun-loving, she’s also hard to seriously get to know sometimes because of all those years of putting up a front. like sometimes she doesn’t even realize that she’s not being 100% genuine ??? so you could be hanging out with her every single day and still not know her completely and she might not open up and that’s okay, she’s working on it

she is a pretty good friend tho ! super loyal, a true ride or die, will want to fight anyone that you have a problem with, showers you in compliments and gifts, truly 10 / 10

but if she doesn’t like you or if you’ve mistreated her in any way at all she will in fact hold it against you for the rest of her life. just petty as a mf and i hate her for it like sis pls leT SH*T GO !!!!

didn’t grow up rich so now that she’s making bank she’s one of those people that just buys dumb things just because she can ??? the size of her closet is absolutely ridiculous, just overflowing with clothes and accessories, and the amount of random packages that get delivered to her apartment that she doesn’t even remember ordering is even more so ... just ... irresponsible spender

stubborn ?? what is compromising ??? doesn’t know her but will try ( begrudgingly ) if she really likes you

hates being bored. can and will go to excessive lengths to avoid boredom

partygirl margo has not stopped, will not stop, and cannot be stopped much to my own disappointment

self-proclaimed dancing queen. really puts all those years of classical dance training to good use by hopping on top of tables / countertops at parties to shake some ass

surprisingly a responsible adult that can cook and clean and get shit done when she really puts her mind to it ??? this developed over the years that her mom was sick and bedridden and she stepped up to take care of household chores while her dad worked doubles

very family-oriented and talks to her dad all the time. like, calls him daily for really dumb reasons. any time she feels down the first person she wants to talk to is him ( well it’s actually her mom, who was her best friend in the whole world, but since she’s not here anymore they make do as just the two of them )

her ego is LARGE. GRANDE. thinks very highly of herself as a result of being praised too much as a child probably. not to mention she is very very good at what she does, has more talent in her little pinky then i do in my whole body. she’s secretly insecure on the inside but she presents as an overconfident bad bitch

a staple to her character that i wish she would shake is her inability to handle her own feelings in a healthy way ... she just sorta ... shuts down ?? runs away ?? acts like nothing is happening ?? it’s bad. would rather leave than get left and bottle up all her feelings and kick them under the bed then ever open up

has a terrible sleeping pattern and cannot stay on a solid sleep schedule to save her life. undiagnosed insomniac. when her mind just won’t calm down she often goes out to keep her occupied and avoid any overthinking that might occur when she’s in her own company

her life motto is #YOLO and does a lot of stupid sh*t because of it

probably uses tiktok too much both as a consumer and a content creator. vlogs her backstage experiences and also just posts dumb, amusing things

this is so long i’m sorry if you read this whole thing i just have a lot of feelings about her after writing her for so many years AKJSDK i’ll shut up now BYE

i have margo’s wc page HERE but just some ideas are best friends, frenemies, confidants, fellow music people, party friends, pr friends or pr rivals, crushes, on and off again, exes, roommate, childhood friends, family friends, good influence, bad influence, honestly truly anything and everything PLS i love to plot and write w/ all of you ! <3

#wealthyhq:intro #i finally finished this so imma post it #pls love my baby 🥺

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

Writeober 13 - Rose

The first of her old group that Sandy ran into was Aliyah, looking every bit as gorgeous as she used to back when they were all in high school. “Sandy!” Aliyah hugged her. “Girlfriend, you look fantastic!”

“You liar,” Sandy said affectionately. She was forty pounds heavier than she’d been in high school, and the stress of motherhood and scrambling to make ends meet had taken its toll on her face, and she knew it. But that was Aliyah for you. The most beautiful girl in the entire school, and she always had a kind word or an encouragement for everyone else she met. Aliyah was older now, but no less beautiful – possibly moreso, in fact, because she’d grown into confidence and power. Her skin was darker than Sandy’s, but perfect and smooth, while Sandy’s brown face had never entirely grown out of its teenage habit of developing pimples, nor of showing blemishes where the pimples used to be. And her clothes, of course, were fashionable and fit her like they were tailored, whereas the dress Sandy was wearing came off the rack at Target and fit like a gunnysack.

None of that mattered. Sandy had worshiped Aliyah as a kid, had wanted to be her… up until the revelations of their senior year, when she’d learned the price Aliyah had paid for money and beauty. They’d been in touch periodically ever since; neither of them had much time to meet in person, but Aliyah desperately needed a confidante she could call and talk to, or email with, who didn’t care about her money or fame, and Sandy felt honored to be that friend.

“Who all’s here?” Sandy asked.

“I’ve seen Gwen and Tulsi—”

“Gwen?”

“Harriet used to call her Gun, remember? Red Sky.”

“Oh, that’s right. Glad she made it. What about Susan?”

“I think she’s coming,” Aliyah said. “She was on the planning committee with me. But I haven’t seen her yet. And I haven’t seen Harriet.”

“I’m going to circulate around a while, see if I can find any of them,” Sandy said.

“You should try the fondue fountain, it is to die for,” Aliyah said.

Sandy laughed. “Some of us poor mortal girls have to watch our weight.”

“Oh, don’t even. You’ve had two kids, you’ve got a mortgage to pay, your job has you sit at a desk all day – you are in fantastic shape for someone who’s done everything you have and works as hard as you do. You deserve a chocolate strawberry or two.”

“Thanks,” Sandy said, “maybe I will.”

“I mean it, Sandy. You see me looking like this, but looking like this is my job. I have personal trainers, I have nutritionists, I’ve got a whole gym in my house. And what do I do? I’m an actress. I like to think I bring joy to people’s lives, but I don’t have any children, and you fight health insurance companies to make sure your doctors get paid and your patients don’t get screwed, and that is so important in this day and age. You’ve made two humans and you work your ass off to give them good lives and raise them up right. You are the one of us who’s still a hero, Sandy, I’m just the one who was lucky enough to have rich parents.”

“I remember you telling me about your parents, Ali. I don’t think you were lucky.”

Aliyah smiled wistfully. “Yeah, no, you’re right about that part of it. I just don’t want you being down on yourself because you gained weight, girl. Nobody gets out of high school without getting bigger. It’s natural. The only reason people think thin is beautiful is the beauty industry trying to sell them garbage.”

“Didn’t you do a makeup commercial a few years ago?”

Aliyah laughed. “I did! Beauty products are garbage, but as long as women are going to buy them, I want them to see glamorous black women wearing product that makes our skin look spectacular. You know?”

“I do,” Sandy said. “I – oh. Is that Red Sky with that little girl on her shoulders?”

Aliyah turned and looked. “That’s her. Why don’t you go talk to her? I’m going to look for Susan.”

“Good luck,” Sandy said, and went over to greet her former comrade.

Red Sky – Gwen, who almost never went by that – was tall. Sandy remembered her being tall, but wow, she must have kept growing out of high school. Her red hair was still cut short, military-style, but she was wearing a dress, which had to be the first time Sandy had ever seen her in one. The dress showed off her biceps, which had been amazing back then and still were, and she had a small girl around five or six, pale-skinned with curly black hair, riding her piggyback style. She waved cheerily at Sandy as soon as she saw her. “Hey there! Sandy! How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Sandy said. “That your little girl?”

“She sure is! Ginny, say hi to my friend Sandy.”

“Hi!” Ginny waved. “Are you friends with both my mommies?”

“I don’t know who your other mommy is,” Sandy said.

“Sure you do,” Gwen said. “It’s Harriet.”

That stopped Sandy dead for a moment. “Harriet. As in Black Rose.”

“Yup.”

“As in the girl you said you totally hated.” She was censoring that for Ginny’s sake; there had generally been a few f-bombs thrown into that statement when Gwen had made it, back then.

“Sure did.”

“As in the girl who bullied you all through elementary, middle, and high school.”

“To be fair, I gave as good as I got.”

“The one you said you wanted to join the army to get away from. That Harriet.”

“Yup, that’s the one.” Gwen laughed. “Turns out we didn’t really hate each other after all. She was just the most repressed lesbian ever and I was… well, I wasn’t repressed, but all the stuff I did to annoy her because I thought I hated her, turns out there was another reason for that.”

“Wow.” Sandy shook her head. “Amazing.”

“I have Mommy Harriet’s genes,” Ginny said, which seemed to Sandy like a very strange topic of conversation for a six year old to bring up. “But I grew in Mommy Gunnie’s tummy.”

“You know about genes?”

“She’s Harriet’s kid,” Gwen said. “Of course she knows about genes. Don’t you, cookie?”

“Genes are why we are what we are,” Ginny said. “We get them from mommies and daddies. My daddy doesn’t live with us but he was very smart and so Mommy Harriet picked him for his genes so I could be smart and he said yes.”

“Paul,” Gwen said before Sandy could ask.

“Oh. Makes sense.” Paul hadn’t been a member of their group, but he’d known about them, and he’d been close friends with Tulsi and Harriet, and he’d helped them out on numerous occasions. While Harriet had been bizarrely obsessed with human biology, and Tulsi had been an all-around genius who was just good at every academic subject ever, Paul had had a penchant for engineering and computers.

“You know if Susan’s here?” Gwen asked.

“Aliyah thinks she’s probably around here somewhere. She was on the planning committee. Is Harriet here?”

“She said she was gonna be—” The door to the school gym opened, and a short, pale woman with black curly hair, wearing an open black coat, a black velvet dress, black nylons, and a necklace made of bits of polished white something that Sandy would bet were animal bones, stalked in. “—late,” Gwen finished. “Hey! Harriet!”

Harriet did not look up, or at anyone in the room. She just power-walked over to Gwen, head partially down but eyes pointed straight ahead and glowering. “Green Vine,” she said to Sandy. “Everyone’s here. Gather them up and meet me in the old senior lounge.”

“What’s going on?” Gwen asked.

“They’re back, Gun.” Now Harriet looked up, meeting her wife’s eyes high above her own. “I’m not here as Harriet Nonasky. I’m here as Black Rose. The Guardians need to gather again.”

“Fuck!” Gwen said. “Harriet… we’ve got Ginny here! We can’t go anywhere without finding her a sitter!”

“What about Daddy Paul?” Ginny suggested.

“And I’ve got kids back home,” Sandy said. “They’ve got a sitter, and they’ve got their dad when he gets home later tonight, but neither the sitter nor my husband are expecting me to… what? What are we even doing? I can’t fit in my Green Vine costume anymore! I don’t think any of us could!”

“Harriet can,” Gwen said. “I’ve seen her wear the Black Rose costume at home. She still fits in it.”

“Forget costumes,” Harriet said. “I got Paul for Ginny, and he said he’d find help for Sandy’s and Susan’s kids. Where’s Susan?”

“No one’s seen her yet,” Gwen said.

Harriet closed her eyes. She’d ladled on a good bit of black eyeshadow on top of her black mascara, and thick white foundation everywhere else, so when she closed her eyes they looked almost like shadowy holes in her face. “We need to find her. Now. Because they might have gotten her.”

“I’ll tell Aliyah,” Sandy said. “And whoever finds Tulsi first, let her know.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve got a minivan now, so… if y’all want me to, I can be the driver again.”

“That might be the way things go,” Harriet said. “Gun, give me Ginny. Paul’s out in the parking lot waiting for her.”

“I – all right.” She set her daughter down on the floor. “You gonna be good for Daddy Paul?”

“Uh-huh. Are you gonna go be superheroes, Mommy Gunnie?”

“We sure might,” Gwen said. “Harriet, tell him thanks for me.”

“Right,” Harriet said. “Ginny, come on.”

“Is this really happening?” Sandy asked rhetorically, shaking her head. She turned around and searched the room for Aliyah. Or Tulsi. Or Susan. Especially Susan. She saw Aliyah, and she saw Tulsi… but no sign of White Fox.

“Red Sky, Blue Sea’s over by the girls’ locker room. You go talk to her. I’ll tell Golden Sun.” Blue Sea was Tulsi, and Golden Sun was Aliyah.

“I thought we killed those bastards extra dead,” Gwen said. “Goddamn.”

“Me too.”

Gwen shrugged. “Oh well. I gotta say, I won’t cry if I’ve gotta killinate them some more. Let’s find the others and then meet up with Harriet, and hopefully she’ll actually tell us what the hell is going on.”

“You’re optimistic. She never did before,” Sandy said.

“I’m married to her. She’s mellowed out. Some. Trust me.”

#writeober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #magical girls #are now grownup magical women #any resemblance between some of these characters #and the characters of the locked tomb series #is entirely intentional

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xiaodejunletsact · 5 years

Text

say it | dong sicheng

word count: 4,021

genre: royalty!au, princess!reader, servant/ best friend!sicheng, fluff and lil bit of angst and smut.

warnings: attempted sexual assault (nothing to graphic but still), violence, implied sex (well, kinda just sex)

author’s note: hey!! so i literally pulled this out of my ass as a little present for all of my followers as a thank you for getting me to 1K followers!!! i can’t thank you guys enough for supporting my work and i can’t believe im already at 1k what the fuckk. anyway,, i wrote this little au for y’all just a warning; its not very good since i wrote it so last minute but i still hope you guys enjoy it. actor!xiaojun is going to be done soon so please look forward to it!! once again thank you :)

synopsis: after years of not knowing what the feelings stirring in your heart for the young servant boy you know as your best friend were, an incident with a disgusting duke and the moonlight on sicheng’s face help you find your answer.

The only thing more suffocating than the corset wrapped tightly around your waist was the predatory stare the Duke of the neighboring kingdom was giving you from across the dining table.

Out of all the potential suitors your mother has picked in her 4 months of searching, this one was surely one of the worst; he was evidently almost twice your age; the top his shiny head was beginning to appear beneath the three pathetic strands brushed over to conceal the clear sign of his age. His hands were free of calluses and his neat nails were clear indication of the amount of work this man does in his everyday life. Once you finally look at his face, you realize that you have found the worst part of him: his eyes. The light blue of them that is usually seen as beautiful leans more towards grey causing an almost lifeless and frightening affect upon them, they’re hooded as they stare back at you; the shivers that go up your spine force you to look away, redirecting your gaze to your hands.

You smile when you see the neatly bent wire wrapped around your index finger, the helix shape it made as it circled your finger takes you back to the moment you received the makeshift ring.

You hadn’t known Sicheng very well at the time but you knew that he came from a poor family, your mother had taken in with the exchange of them doing the labor and work around the palace. He was only 16 when you met him for the first time, black hair falling slightly over his eyes as he frantically apologizes for god knows what only to stopped by your gentle hand on his, telling him it’s okay. He visibly calms at this before standing up straighter, trying hard to rebalance all the tray of pots and dishes he carries in his shaky hands. You can tell he’s struggling, but he covers up his failed attempts to calm down with a sweet (and slightly embarrassed) smile. That’s when you decide that you liked Sicheng. Maybe not in a romantic way, but in a way that you knew you wanted to spend more time with the young servant boy.

Which you did by following around the boy as he did his chores and asking him any questions that popped into your head, which he tried to answer the best he could while he body was racked with nerves. However, after a while, the conversation started to flow easier, Sicheng started to ask you questions back and openly display an emotion other than stoic. He would laugh out loud and even nudge your shoulder from time to time in playful gesture. Sicheng realizes he likes you too.

That’s why one day, as you two side by side down the palace halls on the way to the kitchen, Sicheng pulls a silver object of the pocket of his worn out pants and brings it up to your face. “My mother told me that my father gave her a ring as a promise to forever be loyal to her and… I just wanted you to know that I will forever be loyal to you, princess y/n.”

It’s difficult to explain the emotions that were going through you at the moment but they lead up to you happily throwing your arms around the boy, squeezing him tight enough that he can feel the genuine appreciation for the thoughtful gift. You don’t see is Sicheng’s face becoming beet red as you wrap your arms around him but you feel his arms wrap around you slowly, hesitantly, and his head lean on top of yours. When you slip the ring onto your index finger with a fond smile on your face, Sicheng has to look down at his feet to ensure that he hasn’t elevated off the ground and is floating above your head because of how happy he is.

“Is there something you find humorous, my lady?” You immediately snap out of your daydream as the taunting voice of the Duke brings you back to reality. You almost roll your eyes but smile politely, shaking your head.

“No, not particularly.”

“You were smiling just seconds ago.”

“Was I? I must have done it unconsciously.” You almost sighed in relief as he seems to buy it, nodding his head and standing up.

“Shall we take a walk around the palace?” He walks around the table and towards the exit of the dining room, not awaiting your response. You reluctantly stand get on your feet, sending reassuring smiles to the maids you sent apologetic ones you way before leaving the room.

“It’s a bit dusty on this shelf don’t you think?” The man’s white finger comes down on the counter in a swiping motion, picking up the grand total of about 4 dust particles. He shows you he clean finger as he makes a disgusted face. You think you might die.

That is, until you see a familiar face turning the corner. You feel relief rush through your body as you see the black hair you know so well. The voice of the Duke drowns out once again as you watch Sicheng dust a painting at the end of the hall. He has changed since the time you first met, he’s taller and slimmer. The baby face you once knew is long gone, replaced with sharp angles. The broadness of his shoulder has surely reached maximum capacity by this point, and you it quickly turns into one of those moments where you begin to wonder when did Sicheng get so… hot? These days you often catch yourself staring at him but so did every other normal person in the castle. While you were busy thinking about the hotness of your best friend your potential suitor has taken the liberty of calling him over to dust the shelves on the palace walls.

Sicheng’s presence is like a lavender candle, the closer he gets the more relaxed and at ease you feel. You nearly jump of joy when he’s right beside you. “Yes, your majesty?”

“Clean these shelves, boy. The person who did who did clearly didn’t know what they were doing because these shelves are filthy.”

You nearly snort at his statement, seeing as that you and Sicheng had dusted the shelves together that same morning.

“Of course.” Sicheng replies, carefully maneuvering the duster around the designs of the fancy shelf, cleaning off whatever it is the Duke has seen. Meanwhile the Duke goes off about the time he spent studying in Spain, and this conversation, much like the others gets drowned out. This time, by the outline of Sicheng’s back muscles through his white shirt as he dusts those shelves like a pro.

“Princess, your mind is awfully distant today.” The old man shoots you an accusing and annoyed look that shoots between you and Sicheng. You realize that he had caught you staring at the servant and was now giving you a judgemental look. “Is there something you need from this servant boy?”

Sicheng finally turns towards, keeping a straight face while making eye contact with you for the first time since you entered the hall. (Sicheng was told to not interact with you with suitors came to visit since it could put them off.) The Duke must see the corners of your lips tug slightly into a soft smile at the interaction because he suddenly steps between you two, clearing his throat simultaneously reminding you of his question. “Not right now.” But there is. You need him to get you out of here, you need him to whisk you away to the garden so you can water plants together and be at peace. Though you would never say any of these things to the old man because he would realize that you needed Sicheng in a way very different to the one he had thought of.

He watches you with suspicious eyes as you try your best to not show any of the emotions running through you right now, which proves to be harder than you expected. What with the scrutinizing gaze of the Duke and Sicheng’s gentle smile peering over his shoulder.

“Shall we continue the tour?” You suggested, desperate to move to a different topic of conversation. Thankfully, the man agrees and walks ahead of you, only after sending a dirty look Sicheng’s way.

“This is my bedroom.” You trace your hand across the intricate design of the familiar door, slowly moving past it to next room only to be stopped by the Duke’s hand on your arm, pulling you back. The second you meet his eyes you wish you could run away. The pale blue, dead looking eyes you hate so much stare back at you, this time, they hold a predatory feel. His intentions clear.

“I would love to see it.” You gulp, thinking of ways to politely decline his offer. However, you have no time to do so since the man is suddenly opening your door and dragging you into the room.

He examines the room with a somewhat judgmental look. Frowning slightly as he sees the odd knick knacks and artifacts you had collected with Sicheng over the years lining your window sills and filling up the majority of your desk. “This is very…interesting.”

You notice the wince in his voice as he says the words still, you force a smile. “Thank you, I got them from a good friend of mine.”

“Sit on the bed with me, princess.”

You feel your body go rigid when he says those words. Sweat begins to pool around the neck of your dress and you become hyper aware of all your surroundings. You’re nearly shaking as the man pulls you to the bed. No matter how hard you try, you can’t find it in you fight back. You don’t know why. Maybe fear. But you seem to become his puppet for a moment as he sits you down next to him on you nearly made bed.

“You know princess,” The man whispers into your ear causing shivers of disgust to go down your spine, you feel like you might cry as he moves even closer to you. His breath fanning your neck in a way that makes you sick. “I can’t be your suitor until I see what you have to offer.”

You feel yourself begin to feel sick and even then, you do nothing to stop it. It’s like you’ve lost full control of your body. Tears start running down your cheeks as the man leans forward and presses a sloppy kiss on your neck. You curl away in disgust, causing the man to look at you with an offended look.

And that’s when you see the familiar shoes from under your door frame.

“Sicheng!” You shoot up, pushing the man’s hands off of you. “Please, help!” The Duke’s hands are immediately on you again although now, they are over your mouth, being used to silence you. You try desperately to push away but his grip on you is tight. That is, until his hands are being pried off of you and his body is thrown on the floor in front of you. Suddenly you feel a pair of rough yet soft hands of either side of your face.

“Y/N?”

It’s only when you open your eyes that you realize that they were closed to begin with. The sight of Sicheng’s eyes calms you almost immediately (you were almost positive he was your remedy). His worried eyes bore into yours as he wipes away your tears with his thumbs. “Y/n, what happened? What did he do to you?”

You can only hiccup as you recall the event, the helplessness you felt and the pure disgust the memory brings you. Sicheng watches in concern as you sob in his hands, anger rushes through his blood as he turns to the man lying on the floor. Crouching down to his level, he grabs a fistful of the man’s expensive dress shirt. “What did you do to her?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Sicheng this angry. His forearm is bulging from the tight grip he has on the man’s shirt, the veins on his flushed neck protruding as he clenches his jaw at the man under him. “What did you do to the princess?” He repeats through clenched teeth.

The Duke stays quiet beneath him before daring to utter the words with a laugh: “Just sampling the goods.”

Before you know it, Sicheng’s fist was connecting with the side of the man's jaw. Only to be followed by another and another. Until two of the guards who had heard the commotion came running in, they both woke together to detach Sicheng from the bloodied man. Who stands up and sends Sicheng a threading glare before turning your way. He laughs incredulously in your direction and leaves the room with the little dignity he had left.

Once the Queen catches word of the incident, the Duke is banned from ever setting foot in the kingdom again, and she promises you to not bring in any more potential suitors for the time being. Saying she wanted to give you some time to recover from the traumatic incident.

And although she is grateful for the fact that he had stopped the Duke from taking advantage of you, The Queen was adamant on carrying out punishments. Sicheng was told not to interact with you while the suitors were here much less in such a violent manner. Even though the Queen loved Sicheng almost as much as you she did give him the weak punishment of staying two weeks in the underground servants quarters. Which moved his duties from the main palace floor to the kitchen and stables, which were inarguably the hardest jobs to perform around the palace, although you felt guilty for your friend, you knew you’re mother was only giving him a light punishment compared to what she could’ve done, so you stay quiet. Sicheng assured you that he would be fine down there but even then you found yourself sneaking out of your room at half past 1 with your thick duvet wrapped around your head, dragging behind you on your way down to the underground servants quarters.

When you reach the room Sicheng was staying in, you turn the doorknob gently as to not make too much noise. Then you’re met with makes your heart ache slightly. Sicheng is lying on a small bed with his bare back facing you, nothing but a thin sheet covering his legs. He shivers slightly as a cool breeze comes through the window and brushes against his body.

“Sicheng.”

The poor frightened boy shoots up from his bed at the sight of your unexpected presence. His hand falls over his heart as his eyes widen, his breathing calming down as he realizes it’s just you. “You scared me.”

You giggle, “I can see that.”

Seeing you like this makes Sicheng heart flutter, duvet wrapped around your head and sweet giggles leaving your lips. He nearly becomes mush as he remembers that this is a sight only he gets to see, and a memory that will be just his forever. He smiles, “What are you doing here?”

“I just can’t stand the thought of you being alone down here. It’s really chilly tonight too.” Your words scause Sicheng to smile once again, he scoots over until he’s against the wall to make room for you. You lay your body next to him and throw your duvet over the two of you. Sicheng sighs as he’s engulfed by the warmth of the duvet and your body, he then nuzzles his head into the covers cutely.

The bed is smaller than you thought it would be; you and Sicheng were practically pressed against each other. (Not than either of you were complaining.) The feeling of his bare skin under the covers causes your heart to race.

Once you’ve both settled in, facing each other as your eyes take in his face and his yours, a comfortable silence settles. The moonlight coming in through the window looks extra beautiful when it’s draped across your face, Sicheng thinks. His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek softly in an affection gesture that is not rare between you two.

“Thank you for stopping that guy yesterday,” you break the silence with the words you’ve hadn’t gotten the chance to say, “You’re my hero, Sicheng.” Though your words are childish, you couldn’t have meant them more. Without Sicheng, you would be nowhere. Those words were the only ones even remotely close to doing justice to the gratitude and love you feel for the boy laying across from you. Who smiles slightly at your words.

“You don’t have to thank me, princess. You know I would do anything for you.” It’s your turn to smile as he gazes down at you affectionately. You bring your hand up to his face and show him your ring.

“My most loyal companion.” He chuckles lightly before taking your hand in his and laying them, intertwined, between your bodies. “I want to give you something too, so you can remember that I will also always be loyal to you, Sicheng.”

Sicheng smiles but shakes his head politely, “You coming all the way down here in the middle of the night just because you thought I would be lonely was enough to remind me of your loyalty.”

You chuckle before looking up at Sicheng’s face once again. Then, it’s like the scene begins play in slow motion, the soft smile he’s wearing tugs your heartstrings a specific way, the moonlight in his eyes twinkle a bit brighter and it dawns on you…

Sicheng was your best friend. Sicheng was the one you could confide in the most. Sicheng has always taken care of you and helped you through your hardest times. Sicheng was someone you could always count on. Sicheng is the love of your life.

You’re in love with Sicheng.

The feeling had always been there, but you never knew what exactly it was that you were feeling.

The realization crashes into you like a wrecking ball, and the boy in question seems to notice. “What’s wrong?” Concern has seeped into the features of his face and you desperately wanted it to go away and be replaced with the gentle smile he was wearing moments ago. “You face turned serious all of the sudden.”

Another silence washes over the two of you as watch him be for another few minutes, processing the new found information. You know there’s no time like the present, there is no man like the one across from you and there’s no chance you’re going to let this perfect moment pass.

“Sicheng?”

“Hmm?”

“How would you feel if I told you I was in love with you?”

The boy immediately sits up on the small bed, eyes wide giving you dejavú to the moment you walked into the room earlier that night. “What?”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you realize that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. All that courage you felt just minutes ago nowhere to be see. “I’m… I’m in love with you.”

You avoid his gaze that is currently burning holes into the side of your head. You attempt to hide your blushing face under the covers only to have them pulled down by Sicheng, who pulls you into a kiss that was gentle enough to send you mind reeling but hard enough that you feel all the oxygen in your lungs leaving. Leaving you breathless.

You can’t believe this is happening.

Neither can Sicheng.

As you pull away and look Sicheng’s glassy eyes and swollen lips, everything feels so dreamy, you have a hard time believing this is real.

Sicheng decides to speak first, “Are you really in love with me?”

Your eyes quickly become teary like his, you nod. “I am, Sicheng.”

A laugh escapes his lips as a tear falls out of his eye, though he wipes it away quickly. “You’re in love with me. I can’t believe… you love me back.” The sincerity that stares back you as reaches up to wipe away the tear that had fallen from the corner of your eye.

The room is filled with the sound of soft sniffles and the love that radiates off of your bodies. Which settles for a few minutes until Sicheng decides to break the silence.

“It won’t be easy for us, you know.” His words carry a worrisome tone that reminds you of the fact that you are the princess, and (even though you didn’t see him as one) Sicheng was in fact a servant in the castle. You were supposed to marry a rich prince that would benefit the political affairs of your kingdom, Sicheng can’t do that.

But Sicheng can make you laugh like no other, he can ease your stress and cure your sadness like it’s his specialty. Sicheng can protect you and keep you safe from the world.

Sicheng takes care of the older maids when they fall sick, he helps people around the town with their chores when he has finished his own, he always thinks about the people around him before he thinks about himself. He doesn’t have anything to offer other then a heart of gold and good intentions.

What better person is there to be king?

“I know,” you bring your hand up to stroke his messy black hair, running your fingers through it before letting it fall back to its original place on his forehead. “We will have fights and people won’t agree with our relationship, we will have to be strong Sicheng. It will be worth it in the end.”

A closed lipped smile makes its way onto Sicheng’s face and he pulls you closer to him, his hand grips the back of your nightshirt tightly as presses your foreheads together. His breath fans on your mouth as he whispers the words he can now say whenever he pleases, “I love you.”

You chuckle and say them back. You say it again and again and again until his lips are back on yours. You keep saying as his kisses reach your neck and jaw, this time with a breathy tone to them; elated and breathless at the feeling of his warm mouth on your neck.

You say it when he finally finds his rightful place between your legs, hands on your hips as he slowly enters you, the sheets thrown off your bodies because of the increasing heat radiating off the two of you. “My Queen.” He sighs as he looks down at you, his eyes are hooded and lust filled, messy hair sticking to his forehead. Sweat drips down his chest and toned abdomen causing your mouth water.

You say it with your hands in his hair as his sweaty body crashes onto yours, your breaths meet and mix between you before he leans forward and presses one last long kiss on your swollen lips.

His sleepy smile is the last thing you before you fall fast asleep that night, Sicheng’s arm around your waist pulling you against him so he could feel you while he slept.

The Queen chuckles slightly as she walks into her daughter’s bedroom only to find it empty and the duvet missing. She figured you would end up in the underground servants quarters with Sicheng. You always did have a pull towards that boy, as did he for you.

Sighing, she leaves the room towards her office in the castle where her maid sits at the desk writing. “Darling, will you please send a message to the Southern prince who was supposed to come here in 3 weeks? Tell him to not go through the hassle of traveling all the way up here.” The Queen sees the confused look on the woman’s face and clarifies her words, “I think Princess Y/N has already found what she has been searching for.”

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